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The CHILD’S TREASURy 


THE FOUNDATION LIBRARY 



, / 1 
| 

CHICAGO 

FOUNDATION DESK COMPANY 

i N CO iq.POR.ATE D 

■MM*inv*~ ^ r? • — -i— - ■ - —r- i— -tittii— r -~in r r-~i -irir i ~ —i m > n m ir « inn i nr ifr i r r ■ i mrui niri i wwim umim i n n 















OCT -i 73 


Copyright 1923 

QUARRIE CORPORATION, Ltd. 

All Rights Reserved 



Editorial Acknowledgments 


The Foundation Desk Company Inc. is indebted to Glenn C. 
Wilson for originating and designing the Foundation Desk and 
Library, which were built under his able direction, and to Chester H. 
Lawrence for his capable direction of the art work and supervision 
of the production of The Foundation Library. The following artists 
have made substantial contributions in beautifying the pages of 
the library: 


VIRGINIA BROWN 
DONN P. CRANE 
ELINOR d’ALBERT 
BERT R. ELLIOTT 
LUCILLE ENDERS 
HAZEL FRAZEE 
HELEN M. HAINES 
MARGUERITE JONES 
GLEN KETCHUM 


E. R. KIRKBRIDE 
V. H. KIRKBRIDE 
M. FRANCES MORRIS 
BILLY PARKS 
HERBERT N. RUDEEN 
GERTUDE S. KINDER 
FRANK SPREYER 
MILO WINTER 
ELLSWORTH YOUNG 


The Publishers and Editors wish to express their thanks to all 
the publishing houses which have so generously permitted the re¬ 
printing of copyrighted stories and poems. This material is acknowl¬ 
edged on the pages where it appears. 


Copyright 1923 

QUARRIE CORPORATION, Ltd. 

All Rights Reserved 



Foreword 

THE CHILD’S TREASURY 

T O the children who will use, and we hope enjoy, this book, it is merely a col¬ 
lection of charmingly illustrated stories, poems, songs and plays to satisfy many 
moods. To the publishers who conceived and planned this volume with its twelve 
departments, it is something more. It is that part of their Foundation Desk which 
leads towards character formation. As the compiler of this material, it has been my 
part to further both the enjoyment of the child and the interest of the publishers 
in his moral development. 

The stories and poems in this volume were chosen on the basis of their literary 
merit, their sound ethical principles and their suitability to the ages of the children 
who will use the little desk. The animal stories are of two kinds, the realistic tale 
and the folk tale. The folk tale presents animal life imaginatively, not scientifically. 
The animals are treated more or less humorously, as droll prototypes of human beings. 
The Bible stories have sought to preserve the beauty of the King James version in a 
somewhat simpler story form. The travel tales, nature study and character sketches 
make no pretense at being literature, but belong in the world of real people and 
experiences. By means of these, the child’s curiosity is roused, he is stirred to 
emulation, his knowledge is broadened and enriched. Throughout the book we have 
avoided the elements of horror, fearfulness and bloodshed, believing with Felix Adler, 
that— 

“The young should first be won to realize what is already good. They 

should be nurtured on beauty before they are shown the face of ugliness, the 

deformities, the cruelties, the wrongs. They should be, to some extent at 
least, children of light before they are enlisted to combat the power of dark¬ 
ness. In the life of young children there should be as much sunshine as 
possible. They will need the warmth of it later on.” 

It is the hope of the publishers and of the editor that this book will be useful to 
parents in suggesting the different kinds of reading children enjoy and need. It 
will then fulfill one of its purposes and be a foundation upon which to build further 
and richer reading experiences. 

For the children, we hope it will prove a solace on rainy days and an added joy 
on sunny ones. We hope it may grow to be one of those favorite books, so constantly 

in use that when other interests call, it remains the top book on the pile. Then it 

might deserve that delightful title that was once given to Mother Goose in the 
eighteenth century—“The Top Book of All.” 


May Hill (Editor). 



Contents 


NURSERY RHYMES AND STORIES 


How Many Days 
Ring Around the Roses 
To Market 
Pat-a-Cake 
Pease Porridge Hot 
See-Saw Sacradown 
Bow, Wow, Says the Dog 
1 2 3 4 5. 

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe 
Little Boy Blue 
Little Robin Redbreast 
The Rainbow . 

I Had a Little Pony 
Bah, Bah, Black Sheep . 
Bow-Wow-Wow 
Once I Saw a Little Bird 
Hey Diddle Diddle 
Little Tom Tucker 
There Was an Old Woman 
Little Miss Muffet 
I Saw a Ship a-Sailing . 
Heigh Ho .... 

One Misty Moisty Morning 
Daffy-Down-Dilly 
Wee Willie Winkie 
Jack and Jill . 

Bye Baby Bunting . 

Bed in Summer 
What is Pink . 

My Shadow 
Bunches of Grapes 
The Wind .... 
Growing in the Vale . 


PAGE 

. Mother Goose 10 

. Mother Goose 10 

. Mother Goose 10 

. . Mother Goose 10 

. . Mother Goose 10 

. Mother Goose 10 

. . Mother Goose 11 

. . Mother Goose 11 

. . Mother Goose 11 

. . Mother Goose 12 

. Mother Goose 12 

Christina G. Rossetti 13 
. Mother Goose 14 

. Mother Goose 14 

. Mother Goose 14 

. Mother Goose 14 

. Mother Goose 15 

. Mother Goose 15 

. Mother Goose 15 

. Mother Goose 15 

. Mother Goose 16 

. Mother Goose 17 

. Mother Goose 18 

. Mother Goose 18 

. Mother Goose 18 

. Mother Goose 18 

. Mother Goose 18 

Robert Louis Stevenson 19 

Christina G. Rossetti 19 

Robert Louis Stevenson 20 

Walter De La Mare 21 

Robert Louis Stevenson 22 

Christina G. Rossetti 22 



3 

















4 


CONTENTS 


Happy Thought. 

. Robert Louis Stevenson 

PAGE 

23 

Milkweed Seed. 

. Wilhelmina Siegmiller 

23 

Who Hath Seen the Wind. 

Christina G. Rossetti 

23 

Blow, Wind, Blow. 

. Mother Goose 

23 

Little Wind. 

Kate Greenway 

23 

Goldilocks and the Three Bears 

. Adapted by May Hill 

24 

The Pancake. 

George Webbe Dasent 

27 

Bread and Cherries. 

Walter De La Mare 

30 

Where Go the Boats. 

. Robert Louis Stevenson 

31 

Paper Boats . 

. Rabindranath Tagore 

32 

The Owl’s Answer to Tommy .... 

Julia H. Ewing 

33 

Boots and His Brothers. 

. George Webbe Dasent 

39 

The Bandog . 

Walter De La Mare 

45 

Clouds and Waves. 

. Rabindranath Tagore 

46 

The Wind and the Sun. 

Aesop 

47 

The Lad Who Went to the North Wind 

George Webbe Dasent 

48 

The Friendly Cow. 

. Robert Louis Stevenson 

53 

How Creatures Move. 

Unknown 

54 

Old Ned, My Horse. 

Unknown 

54 

Mother Frost. 

Grimm 

55 

The Shoemaker and the Elves .... 

Grimm 

59 

The Cupboard . 

Walter De La Mare 

64 


NURSERY SONGS AND LULLABIES 


Oh, Dear! What Can the Matter Be 

• • • 

. Mother Goose 

66 

Hot Cross Buns. 


. Mother Goose 

67 

Polly Put the Kettle On . 



67 

Simple Simon. 

/U\ • 

. Mother Goose 

68 

Sing a Song of Sixpence . . . 


. Mother Goose 

69 

Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary . J 

wV' ** 

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. Mother Goose 

70 

Pat-a-Cake. 


. Mother Goose 

70 

Georgy Porgy . 


. Mother Goose 

71 

Humpty Dumpty. 



71 

Old King Cole. 



72 

Hush-a-Bye Baby. 


. Mother Goose 

73 

Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been . 


. Mother Goose 

73 

Hickory, Dickory, Dock .... 


. Mother Goose 

74 






















CONTENTS 


5 


Three Little Kittens . 
Baby Bunting . 
Cock-a-Doodle-Doo 
There Was An Old Woman 
Cradle Song . 

Guardian Angels . 
Japanese Lullaby . 

Ding Dong Bell 


. Mother Goose 
. Mother Goose 
. Mother Goose 
. Mother Goose 
English words by F. R. R. 
. Robert Schumann 
Unknown 
. Mother Goose 


ANIMAL STORIES 


The Tale of Peter Rabbit . 

The Three Little Pigs . 

The Folly of Panic 
The Crow and the Pitcher . 

The Fox and the Stork 
The Lion and the Mouse 
Belling the Cat 
The Hare and the Tortoise 
The Fox and His Travels . 

The Alligator and the Jackal 
The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse 
The Camel and the Pig .... 

A Horse’s Story. 

Two Heroes of the American Desert 

Oeyvind and Marit. 

Why the Bear Has a Stumpy Tail . 

The Nuts of Jonisgyont .... 
The Little Rabbit Who Wanted Red Wings 
The Cat, The Monkey, and The Chestnuts 

The Bell of Atri. 

Mrs. Chinchilla. . 



. Beatrix Potter 
. Adapted 
Marie Shedlock 
Aesop 
Aesop 
Aesop 
Aesop 
Aesop 

Oak Tree Fairy Book 
. Old Deccan Days 
. Adapted 
Aesop 
. Anna Sewell 
Adapted by May Hill 
Bjornstjerne Bjornson 
Aesop 

Frances Jenkins Olcott 
Southern Folk Tale 
Aesop 
. Adapted 
Kate Douglas Wiggin 


CLASSIC TALES AND EVERY-DAY STORIES 

Cinderella. Adapted by May Hill 

The Golden Bird. Grimm 

Puss in Boots. Adapted 


PAGE 

74 

75 

75 

76 

77 

78 

79 

80 


82 

86 

91 

94 

95 

96 
98 

100 

102 

106 

111 

114 

115 
118 
123 

127 

128 
133 

136 

137 
141 


146 

154 

162 





















6 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Grace Darling. Baldwin 168 

The Fisherman and His Wife. Adapted 170 

Little Burnt-Face. Red Indian's Fairy Book 176 

To Your Good Health. Adapted 180 

The Princess on the Glass Hill .... George Webbe Dasent 186 
The Cedar Waxwings in the City . ^^7 • • • May Ilill 193 

The Snow Child. .... Adapted 198 

Dick Whittington and His Cat . . YA• Adapted 201 

MYTHS AND LEGENDS 

Legends of the Arbutus. Adapted 210 

The Prairie Dandelion. Adapted 212 

Baucis and Philemon. Adapted 213 

Pandora. Adapted 221 

The Star Wife. Adapted 228 

The Legend of Saint Christopher. May Hill 235 

TRAVELS IN FOREIGN LANDS 

Foreign Children. Robert Louis Stevenson 242 

Summer and Winter Sports with Children of Norway . May Hill 243 

Indians. May Hill 246 

Festivals Japanese Children Love. May Hill 250 

When Little Boys Come of Age in Siam. May Hill 253 

Marietta of Italy. Edna Walker 254 

NATURE STUDY 

Bees. May Hill 258 

Ants. May Hill 260 

Indian Pipes. May Hill 263 

The Story of the Frog. E . D . Foster 265 

The Migration of Birds. May Hill 268 

Something About Butterflies. E . D . Foster 270 























CONTENTS 


7 


CHARACTER SKETCHES 


The Story of the Great Stone Face. May Hill 

Maximilian and the Goose Boy. Baldwin 

The Girlhood of Queen Victoria. J. Edward Parrott 

Jane Addams. Adapted 

The Boyhood of Benjamin Franklin. Adapted 

Thomas Edison .. Adapted 


HEROES AND PATRIOTS 


George Washington. May Hill 

Lafayette. Adapted 

The Boyhood of Abraham Lincoln. May Hill 

The Little Hero of Haarlem. Adapted 

Bruce and the Spider. Baldwin 

What Peter Told the Stove. Adapted 


DRAMATIZATIONS 


The Sleeping Beauty. May Hill 

The Bremen Musicians. May Hill 


The Duel . 

The Child’s World 
My Ship and I . 

The Swing 
Gypsy Jane 
Catkin 

The Little Trumpeters 
Higgledy Piggledy 
Shall I Sing 
Pipe Thee High 
The Tree . 

Fairy Bread 


POEMS // 

'/ 



. Eugene Field 
.William Brighty Rands 
. Robert Louis Stevenson 
. Robert Louis Stevenson 
.William Brighty Rands 
Unknown 
Margaret Montague 
Kate Greenway 
Kate Greenway 
Kate Greenway 
. Bjornstjerne Bjornson 
. Robert Louis Stevenson 




\ 


PAGE 

274 

280 

283 

286 

289 

293 


298 

302 

307 

312 

316 

317 


322 

331 


338 

339 

339 

340 

341 

342 

342 

343 
343 

343 

344 

345 



















8 


CONTENTS 


Differences . 

Who Likes the Rain 
The Sea Shell . 

Bluebells. 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 
Sleepyhead . 

The Rock-a-By Lady 
Old Gaelic Lullaby 
The Land of Counterpane 
Foreign Lands . 

The Lamplighter . 

The Balloon Man . 

The Months 
Piping Down the Valle 
Going a-Nutting . 

Autumn Fires . 

What the Winds Bring 
The Snowman . 
Winter-Time . 

Winter Nights 
The Pedlar’s Caravan 
A Vagabond Song . 
Wander-Thirst 
Jog on, Jog on . 

Tartary . 

A Sea Song 
The Owl and the Pussy Cat 



. Rose Fyleman 
. . . Anon. 

. Amy Lowell 
Walter De La Mare 
. Eugene Field 
Walter De La Mare 
. Eugene Field 
Unknown 
Robert Louis Stevenson 
obert Louis Stevenson 
Robert Louis Stevenson 
. Rose Fyleman 
Old Rhyme 
William Blake 
Edmund Clarence Stedman 
. Robert Louis Stevenson 
Edmund Clarence Stedman 
Unknown 
. Robert Louis Stevenson 
Mary F. Butts 
. William Brighty Rands 
. Bliss Carman 
. Gerald Gould 
. Shakespeare 
Walter De La Mare 
Allan Cunningham 
. Edward Lear 


PRAYERS AND BIBLE STORIES 


David and Goliath. 

Prayers for Every Day. 

Joseph and His Brethren. 

Part I. The Dreamer. 

Part II. Sold into Slavery. 

Part III. The Dreamer in Egypt .... 
Part IV. Pharaoh Dreams a Dream 
Part V. The Brethren Bow Down to Joseph 
Part VI. Joseph Reveals Himself to His Brethren 


. Adapted 
Unknown 
. Adapted 


PAGE 

345 

346 

347 

347 

348 

350 

351 

352 

353 

354 

355 

355 

356 

357 

358 

359 

359 

360 

361 

362 

363 

364 

365 

365 

366 

367 

368 


370 

374 

375 

375 

376 

377 
379 

381 

382 
















































10 


The Foundation Library 




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How many days has my baby to play? 

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, 

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, 
Saturday, Sunday, Monday. 

Ring around the roses, 

A pocket full of posies; 

One, two, three, 

And we all sit down! 

To market, to market, to buy a plum cake, 
Back again, back again, baby is late; 

To market, to market, to buy a plum bun, 
Back again, back again, market is done. 
To market, to market, to buy a fat pig, 
Home again, home again, dancing a jig. 

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man! 

So I do, master, as fast as I can: 

Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with T, 
Put it in the oven for Tommy and me. 

Pease porridge hot, 

Pease porridge cold, 

Pease porridge in the pot, 

Nine days old. 

Some like it hot, 

Some like it cold, 

Some like it in the pot, 

Nine days old. 

See-saw sacradown, 

Which is the way to Boston town ? 
One foot up, the other foot down, 

And that is the way to Boston town. 

























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


11 



“Bow, wow,” 

Says the dog; 

“Mew, mew,” 

Says the cat. 

“Grunt, grunt,” 

Goes the hog; 

And “squeak,” 

Goes the rat. 

“Tu-whu,” 

Says the owl; 

“Caw, caw,” 

Says the crow. 

"Quack, quack,” 

Says the duck; 

And what sparrows 
Say, you know. 

1,2, 3, 4,5! 

I caught a hare alive; 

6, 7, 8, 9, 10! 

I let her go again. 

One, two, 

Buckle my shoe; 

Three, four, 

Shut the door; 

Five, six, 

Pick up sticks; 

Seven, eight, 

Lay them straight; 

Nine, ten, 

A big fat hen. 




























12 


The Foundation Library 





























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


13 







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THE RAINBOW 

TTOATS sail on the rivers, 

-U And ships sail on the seas, 

A 

But the clouds that sail across the sky 


Are prettier far than these. 


There are bridges on the rivers, 

| 

As pretty as you please, 

-.5 ! 

PC p 

But the bow that bridges heaven 

i 

And overtops the trees 

V | 

And builds a road from earth to sky, 


Is prettier far than these. 

n 

Christina Rossetti. 



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14 


The Foundation Library 



I had a little pony, 

His name was Dapple-gray, 

I lent him to a lady, 

To ride a mile away; 

She whipped him, she slashed him, 
She rode him through the mire; 

I would not lend my pony now 
For all the lady’s hire. 


Bah, bah, black sheep, 
Have you any wool? 
Yes, marry, have I, 
Three bags full: 

One for my master, 

And one for my dame, 
And one for the little boy 
Who lives in the lane. 


Bow-wow-wow! 

Whose dog art thou? 
Little Tom Tinker’s dog, 
Bow-wow-wow! 


Once I saw a little bird 
Come hop, hop, hop; 

So I cried, “Little bird, 

Will you stop, stop, stop?” 
And was going to the window 
To say, “How do you do?” 
But he shook his little tail, 

And far away he flew. 




























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


15 



Hey! diddle diddle, 

The cat and the fiddle, 

The cow jumped over the moon; 
The little dog laughed 
To see such sport, 

While the dish ran after the spoon. 


Little Tom Tucker 
Sings for his supper; 
What shall he eat? 
White bread and butter. 

How shall he cut it 
Without e’er a knife? 
How will he be married 
Without e’er a wife? 


There was an old woman 
Lived under a hill; 

And if she’s not gone, 

She lives there still. 


Little Miss Muffet, 

Sat on a tuffet, 

V 

Eating her curds and whey; 

Along came a spider, 

And sat down beside her, 

Which frightened Miss Muffet away, 































16 


The Foundation Library 



o o 







































Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


17 



the sound of his wings, 
ley, and a heigh, and a ho! 


/^\H, who is so merry; 
heigh ho! 

As the light-hearted fairy, 
Heigh ho, heigh ho! 
[e dances and sings 


Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh h< 

As the light-footed fairy, heigh ho, Heigh ho! 
His nectar he sips - 
From the primrose’ 

With a hey, and a heigh, and a hoi 

Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho! 

As the light-footed fairy, heigh ho, helgtij! ^ 





















18 


The Foundation Library 




.liC-V 


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One misty, moisty morning, 

When cloudy was the weather, 

I chanced to meet an old man 
Clothed all in leather. 

He began to compliment and 
I began to grin, 

“Oh how-do-you-do, and 
how-do-you-do, 

And how-do-you-do, again!” 

In April’s sweet month, 

When leaves begin to spring, 
Little lambs skip like fairies, 

And birds build and sing. 

Daffy-down-dilly 
Has come up to town, 

In a yellow petticoat 
And a green gown. 

Wee Willie Winkie 
Runs through the town, 
Upstairs and downstairs, 

In his nightgown, 

Rapping at the window, 

Crying through the lock, 

“Are the children in their beds? 
Now it’s eight o’clock.” 

Jack and Jill went up the hill 
To fetch a pail of water; 

Jack fell down and broke his crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after. 

Bye, baby Bunting, 

Daddy’s gone a-hunting, 

To get a little rabbit’s skin, 

To wrap his baby Bunting in. 























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


19 



BED IN SUMMER 

T N winter I get up at night, 

And dress by yellow candle-light. 
In summer, quite the other way, 

I have to go to bed by day. 

I have to go to bed and see 
The birds still hopping on the tree, 
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet 
Still going past me in the street. 

And does it not seem hard to you, 
When all the sky is clear and blue, 
And I should like so much to play, 

To have to go to bed by day? 

—Robert Louis Stevenson. 

WHAT IS PINK? 

HAT is pink? A rose is pink, 

By the fountain’s brink. 

What is red? A poppy’s red, 

In its barley bed. 

What is blue? The sky is blue, 
Where the clouds float through. 

What is white? The swan is white, 
Sailing in the light. 

What is yellow? Pears are yellow, 
Rich, ripe and mellow. 

What is green? The grass is green, 
With small flowers between. 

What is orange? Why, an orange,— 
Just an orange. 

—Christina Rossetti. 


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20 


The Foundation Library 


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MY SHADOW 


I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, 

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. 

He is very, very like me, from the heels up to the head; 

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. 

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— 

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; 

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, 

And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. 

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, 

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. 

He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward, you can see; 

I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to mel 

One morning, very early, before the sun was up, 

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; 

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, 

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



















Nursey Rhymes and Stories 


21 



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22 


The Foundation Library 



THE WIND 

1 SAW you toss the kites on high, 
And blow the birds across the sky; 
And all around I heard you pass, 

Like ladies’ skirts across the grass— 

O wind, a-blowing all day long! 
O wind, that blows so loud 


a song 


I saw the different things you did, 

But always you yourself you hid. 

I felt you push, I heard you call, 

I could not see yourself at all— 

O wind, a-blowing all day long! 

O wind, that sings so loud a song! 

O you that are so strong and cold, 

O blower, are you young or old ? 

Are you a beast of field and tree, 

Or just a stronger child than me? 

O wind, a-blowing all day long! 

O wind, that blows so loud a song! 
Robert Louis Stevenson.. 

GROWING IN THE VALE 

ROWING in the vale, 

By the uplands hilly, 
Growing straight and frail, 

Lady Daffadowndilly, 

In a golden crown 
And a scant green gown, 

While the spring blows chilly, 
Lady Daffadown, 

Sweet Daffadowndilly. 
Christina Rossetti. 



























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


23 



HAPPY THOUGHT 

The world is so full 
Of a number of things, 

I’m sure we should all 
Be as happy as kings. 

—Robert Louis Stevenson. 

MILKWEED SEED 

As white as milk, 

As soft as silk, 

And hundreds close together; 

They sail away 
On an autumn day, 

When windy is the weather. 

—WlLHELMINA SlEGMILLER. 

Who hath seen the wind? 

Neithei you nor I, 

But when the trees 

Bow down their heads, 

The wind is passing by. 

—Christina Rossetti. 

Blow, wind, blow; and go, mill, go! 
That the miller may grind his corn; 
^ That the baker may take it, 

& And into rolls make it, 

^ And send us some hot in the morn. 

LITTLE WIND 
Little wind, blow on the hill top; 
Little wind, blow down the plain; 

. Little wind, blow up the sunshine; 
Little wind, blow off the rain. 

—Kate Greenway. 


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24 


The Foundation Library 



(goldilocks and the Three Bears 

/^NNCE upon a time there were three Bears who lived in a little 
house in the woods. There was a Great Big Father Bear, with a 
great big voice, and a Middle-Sized Mother Bear, with a middle- 

sized voice, and a Little Wee Baby Bear, with a little, wee voice. 
One morning the three Bears had porridge for breakfast, and 

the Mother Bear said: 

“This porridge is too hot to eat now. Let us go to the woods 
for a walk, while the porridge gets cold.” 

So, the Three Bears went for a walk in the woods. 

Now, while they were gone, along came a little girl named 
Goldilocks. When she saw the little house in the woods she won¬ 
dered who lived there; so she knocked at the door. No one 
answered, so she knocked again. Still no one answered; so Goldi¬ 
locks opened the door and walked in. 

There before her, in the little room, she saw a table set for 
three. There was a great big bowl of porridge, a middle-sized bowl 
of porridge and a little, wee bowl of porridge. She tasted the great 
big bowl of porridge. 

“Oh, this is too hot!” she said. 

Then she tasted the middle-sized bowl of porridge. 

“Oh, this is too cold!” 

Then she tasted the little, wee bowl of porridge. 

“Oh, this is just right!” she said, and ate it all up. 



























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


25 


Then she went into another room, and there she saw three chairs. 
There was a great, big chair and a middle-sized chair and a little, 
wee chair. Goldilocks sat down in the great, big chair. 

“Oh, this is too hard!” she said. 

Then she sat down in the middle-sized chair. 

“Oh, this is too soft!” 

Then she sat in the little, wee chair. 

“Oh, this is just right!” and she sat down so hard that she sat 
the bottom out. 

Then she went into another room, and there she saw three beds. 
There was a great big bed, and a middle-sized bed and a little, 
wee bed. Goldilocks laid down on the great, big bed. 

“Oh, this is too hard!” she said. 

Then she tried the middle-sized bed. 

“Oh, this is too soft!” 






















































































































26 


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Then she tried the little, wee bed. 

“Oh, this is just right!” she sighed, and fell fast asleep. 

Now while Goldilocks was asleep, the Three Bears returned 
from their walk in the woods. They looked at the table, and the 
Great Big Father Bear said, in his great big voice, 

“Someone has been tasting my porridge.” 

The Middle-Sized Mother Bear said, in her middle-sized voice, 
“Someone has been tasting my porridge.” 

And the Little, Wee Baby Bear said, in his little, wee voice, 
“Someone has been tasting my porridge and eaten it all up!” 
Then the Three Bears went into the next room. The Great 
Big Father Bear looked at his chair and said, in his great, big 
voice, 

“Someone has been sitting in my chair.” 

Then the Middle-sized Mother Bear said in her middle-sized 
voice, “Someone has been sitting in my chair.” 

And the Little Wee Baby Bear cried, in his little, wee voice, 
“Someone has been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom 
out!” 

Then the Three Bears went into their bedroom. The Great Big 
Father Bear said, in his great big voice, 

“Someone has been lying in my bed.” 

The Middle-sized Mother Bear said, in her middle-sized voice, 
“Someone has been lying in my bed.” 

And the Little Wee Baby Bear cried, in his little, wee voice, 
“Someone has been lying in my bed, and here she is!” 

Now the shrill voice of the Little Wee Baby Bear waked Goldi¬ 
locks, and you may well believe she was frightened to see the Three 
Bears looking at her. She jumped from the bed, ran across the 
room, sprang out of the little, low window, and away she ran through 
the woods as fast as ever her legs could carry her. The Three Bears 
never saw Goldilocks again, but I think they frightened her so she 
has never gone into a house, without being invited. 

—Adapted by May Hill. 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


27 



The Tan cake 

/^\NCE upon a time there was a mother who had seven hungry 
children. One day she was frying a pancake for them to eat. 
There it lay in the frying pan, sizzling and frizzling, so thick and 
fat it would have done you good to look at it. The seven hungry 
children stood round about, and over in the corner stood the old 
grandfather, looking on. Presently, the first hungry child said: 

“Oh, please, dear mother, give me a bit of pancake; I am so 
hungry.” 

Then the second hungry child said: 

“Oh, please, dear, darling mother, give me a bit of pancake; I 
am so hungry.” 

The third hungry child said: 

“Oh, please, dear, darling, precious mother, give me a bit of 
pancake; I am so hungry.” 

The fourth hungry child said: 

“Oh, please, dear, darling, precious, beautiful mother, give me 
a bit of pancake; I am so hungry.” 

The fifth hungry child said: 

“Oh, please, dear, darling, precious, beautiful, clever mother, 
give me a bit of pancake; I am so hungry.” 

So they begged, each more prettily than the other, because they 
were so hungry, and so good! 

“There, there, children,” said the mother, “Wait a bit till the 
pancake turns itself.” 

Now, of course, what she really should have said was, “Wait 
till I turn the pancake.” But when that pancake heard what she 






28 


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really said, it made itself as stiff as it could, and with a flip-flop it 
sprang out of the pan, down to the floor and rolled out of the door 
like a wheel. 

“Oh, stop, Pancake, stop!” cried the mother, running after it with 
the frying pan in one hand and the ladle in the other. 

And, “Stop, Pancake, stop!” cried the seven hungry children, 
running as fast as their legs could carry them. While last of all, 
came the old grandfather, hobbling along, and calling: 

“Stop, Pancake, stop, I tell you!” 

But the pancake could roll faster than any of those people could 
run, and besides, it did not feel like stopping; so in the twinkling 
of an eye it was out of sight down the road. Presently, it met a man. 

“How-do-you-do, Pancake,” said the man, pleasantly. 

“How-do-you-do, yourself,” said the Pancake, pertly. 

“Stop a bit, little Pancake,” cried the man, “stop a bit and let 
me eat you.” 

“No, I thank you, Manny Panny; I have run away from a 
mother and seven hungry children and a grandfather, and I may 
as well run away from you, Manny Panny.” 

Which it did, and rolled on down the road like the wind. Pres¬ 
ently, it met a hen. 

“Good-day, pretty Pancake,” said the hen, sweetly. 

“The same to you, Henny Penny,” cried the Pancake. 

“Bide a bit, pretty Pancake, and let me eat you,” said the hen. 











Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


29 



“Oh, no, I thank you, Henny Penny; I have run away from a 
mother, seven hungry children and a grandfather, Manny Panny 
and now you watch me give you the slip, Henny Penny.” 

So the old hen watched, and sure enough, it did give her the 
slip; it slipped right between her legs and rolled on down the road. 
Presently, it met a duck. 

“How-do-you-do, Pancake,” said the duck. 

“As well as I may,” said the Pancake. 

“Stop a bit, Mr. Pancake, and let me eat you,” said the duck. 

“No, thanks, not to-day, Ducky Lucky; I have run away from 
a mother, seven hungry children, a grandfather, Manny Panny and 
Henny Penny, and I may as well run away from you, Ducky Lucky,” 
said the Pancake, and rolled on down the road. Presently, it met 
a goose. 

“Good-day, Pancake,” said the goose, politely. 

“Good-day, Goosey Poosey,” snapped the Pancake. 

“Bide a bit, pretty Pancake, and let me eat you,” said the goose. 

“Not to-day, Goosey Poosey, for I have run away from a mother, 
seven hungry children, a grandfather, Manny Panny, Henny Penny 
and Ducky Lucky, and this seems to be a very good time to run 
away from you, Goosey Poosey,” cried the Pancake gaily, and rolled 
on like the wind. But suddenly, it met a pig. . 

“How-do-you-do, Pancake,” grunted the pig. 



















30 


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“Oh, how-do-you-do, dear, pretty Pig,” said the Pancake, in a 
very weak voice, and began to roll on like mad. 

“Well, well, Pancake, what is your hurry?” asked the pig. “You 
and I may as well travel on together and see each other safely 
through yonder dark wood, which, to tell you the truth, would be 
none too safe for a young Pancake like you.” 

The Pancake thought there might be something in that; so the 
Pig and the Pancake journeyed on together. All went well until 
they came to a brook. There they stopped. 

“Now, of course, Pancake,” said the Pig, “I am so fat, I can 
swim safely across this brook; it is nothing to me, but how about 
you?” “I do not know,” said the Pancake, faintly. 

“Well, I will tell you, Pancake, you can jump up on my snout 
and I will carry you across. How is that?” said the Pig. 

The Pancake thought that might be better than being left all 
alone in the woods; so it jumped up on the Pig’s snout. The Pig 
waded out into the water with the Pancake on his snout. He waded 
a little farther, and he waded a little farther, then— 

“Ouf, ouf!” grunted the Pig, and swallowed the Pancake at 
one gulp. 

So as the Pancake could go no farther, here my story must end. 

Snip, snap, snout, 

This tale’s told out. 

—Adapted from George Webbe Dasent, 

Popular Tales from the Norse. 

BREAD AND CHERRIES 
“Cherries, ripe cherries,” 

The old woman cried, 

In her snowy-white apron, 

And basket beside; 

And the little boys came, 

Eyes shining, cheeks red, 

To buy bags of cherries 
To eat with their bread. 

—IValter De La Mare. 

By permission, Henry Holt and Company, Copyright, 1920. 












Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


31 



WHERE GO THE BOATS? 


D ARK brown is the river, 
Golden is the sand. 

It flows along forever, 

With trees on either hand. 


Green leaves a-floating, 

Castles of the foam, 

Boats of mine a-boating— 
Where will all come home? 


On goes the river 

And out past the mill, 
Away down the valley, 
Away down the hill. 


Away down the river, 

A hundred miles or more, 

Other little children 

Shall bring my boats ashore. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 









































32 


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^aper H oats 


D &\ by day I float my paper boats, one bv one, down the running 
streams. 

In big black letters I write my name on them, and the name of 
the village where I live. 

I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and 
know who I am. 

I load my little boats with shiuli flowers from our garden, and 
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land 
in the night. 

I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the 
little clouds setting their white bulging sails. 

I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down 
the air to race with my boats! 

When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that 
my paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars. 

The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading is their 

cL^pfc "fn 11 A'f rpo in c Ft oth The Cyescctit A loon, By R^bmdrtinsth Tagore, 

UdoKClo lull Ol U-lCalllb. By permission The Macmilian Co. Copyiight: 1913 


































Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


33 


The Owl's ^Answer to Tommy 

NE evening Tommy’s grandmother was tell¬ 
ing him and his little brother Johnny a story 
about a Brownie who used to do all the work 
in a neighbor’s house before the family got up 
in the morning. 

“What was he like, Granny?” asked Tommy. 
“Like a little man, they say, my dear.” 

“What did he do?” 

“He came in before the family were up, and swept up the hearth, 
and lighted the fire, and set out the breakfast and tidied the room, 
and did all sorts of housework. He never would be seen, and was 
off before they could catch him; but they could hear him laughing 
and playing about the house sometimes.” 

“What a darling. Did they give him many wages, Granny?” 

“No, my dear. He did it for love. They set a pancheon of clear 
water for him over-night, and now and then a bowl of bread and 
milk or cream. Sometimes he left a bit of money in the water. 
Sometimes he weeded the garden or threshed the corn. He saved 
endless trouble both to men and maids.” 

“O Granny! Why did he go?” 

“The maids caught sight of him one night, my dear, and his coat 
was so ragged that they got a new suit and a linen shirt for him, 
and laid them by the bread and milk-bowl. But when Brownie saw 
the things, he put them on and, dancing around the kitchen, sang, 

“‘What have we here? Hemten hamten! 

Here will I nevermore tread nor stampen.’ 

And away he danced through the door and never came back again.” 

“O Grandmother! But why didn’t he come back?” 

“The Old Owl knows, my dear, I don’t. Ask her.” 

Now Tommy was a lazy boy. He wished that he could find 
a Brownie to tidy the room, and fetch the turf, and pick up chips, 











34 


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and do all his work for him. So that night, while little Johnny was 
off in the land of dreams, growing rosier and rosier as he slept, 
Tommy lay wide awake, thinking of his grandmother’s story. 

“There’s an owl living in the old shed by the lake,” he thought. 
“It may be the Old Owl herself, and she knows, Granny says. When 
father’s gone to bed and the moon rises, I’ll go and ask her. 

By and by the moon rose like gold and went up into the heavens 
like silver, flooding the fields with a pale ghostly light. Tommy 
crept softly down the ladder, through the kitchen and out on the 
moor. It was a glorious night, though everything but the wind and 
Tommy seemed asleep. The stones, the walls, the gleaming lanes, 
were so intensely still, the church tower in the valley seemed awake 
and watching, but silent; the houses in the village round it had all 
their eyes shut; and it seemed to Tommy as if the very fields had 
drawn white sheets over them, and lay sleeping also. 

“Hoot! hoot!” said a voice from the fir wood behind him. Some¬ 
body else was awake, then. “It’s the Old Owl,” said Tommy; and 
there she came swinging heavily across the moor with a flapping 
stately flight, and sailed into the shed by the lake. The old lady 
moved faster than she appeared to do, and though Tommy ran hard 
she w r as in the shed some times before him. When he got in, no 
bird was to be seen, but he heard a sound from above, and there sat 
Old Owl, blinking at him, Tommy, with yellow eyes. 

“Oh, dear!” said Tommy, for he didn’t much like it. 

“Come up, come up!” said she hoarsely. 

She could speak, then! Beyond all doubt it was the Old Owl, 
and none other. 

“Come up here! come up here!” said the Old Owl. 

Tommy had often climbed up for fun to the beam that ran across 
the shed where the old Owl sat. He climbed up now, and sat face 
to face with her, and thought her eyes looked as if they were made 
of flame. 

“Now, what do you want?” said the Owl. 

“Please,” said Tommy, “can you tell me where to find the 




Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


35 


Brownies and how to get one to come and live with us?” 

“Oohoo!” said the Owl, “that’s it, is it? I know of two Brownies.” 

“Hurrah!” said Tommy. “Where do they live?” 

“In your house,” said the Owl. 

Tommy was aghast. 

“In our house!” he exclaimed. “Whereabouts? Let me rum¬ 
mage them out. Why do they do nothing?” 

“One of them is too young,” said the Owl. 

“But why doesn’t the other work?” asked Tommy. 

“He is idle, he is idle,” said the Old Owl, and she gave herself 
such a shake as she said it that the fluff went dying through the shed, 
and Tommy nearly tumbled off the beam. 

“Then we don’t want him,” said he. “What is the use of having 
Brownies if they do nothing to help us? But perhaps if you would 
tell me where to find them,” said Tommy, “I could tell them what 
to do.” 

“Could you?” said the Owl. “Oohoo! oohoo!” and Tommy 
couldn’t tell whether she were hooting or laughing. 

“Of course I could,” he said. “They might be up and sweep the 
house, and light the fire, and spread the table, and that sort of thing, 
before father came down. The Brownie did all that in Granny’s 
mother’s young days. And they might tidy the room, and fetch 
the turf, and pick up my chips, and sort Granny’s scraps. Oh! there’s 
plenty to do.” 

“So there is,” said the Owl. “Oohoo! Well, I can tell you 
where to find one of the Brownies; and if you can find him, he will 
tell you where his brother is. But all this depends upon whether 
you will follow my directions.” 

“I am quite ready to go,” said Tommy, “and I will do as you 
tell me. I feel sure I could persuade them to come, if they only 
knew how every one would love them if they made themselves use¬ 
ful!” 

“Oohoo! oohoo!” said the Owl. “Now pay attention. You 
must go to the north side of the lake when the moon is shining ( I 



36 


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know Brownies like water,’ muttered Tommy) — 
and turn yourself round three times, saying this 
charm: 

“ ‘Twist me, and turn me, and show me the 
Elf— 

“I looked into the water and saw—” 

“When you have got so far look into the water, 
and think of a word that will rhyme with Elf, and 
at the same moment you will see the Brownie.” 

“Is the Brownie a merman,” said Tommy, 
“that he lives under water?” 

“That depends on whether he has a fish’s tail,” 
said the Owl, “and that you can see for yourself.” 

“Well, the moon is shining, so I shall go,” said Tommy. “Good- 
by, and thank you ma-am;” and he jumped down and went, saying 
to himself, “I believe he is a merman, all the same, or else how could 
he live in the lake?” 

The moon shone very brightly on the center of the lake. Tom¬ 
my knew the place well, for there was a fine echo there. Round the 
edges grew rushes and water plants, and turning himself three times, 
as the Old Owl had told him, he repeated the charm: 

“Twist me and turn me and show me the Elf— 

“I looked into the water and saw—” 

Now for it! He looked in, and saw—his own face. 

“Why, there’s no one there but myself!” said Tommy. “And 
what can the word be? I must have done it wrong.” 

“Wrong!” said the Echo. 

Tommy was almost surprised to find the echo awake at this 
time of night. 

“Much you know whether I’m wrong or not,” said he. “Belf! 
Celf! Delf! Felf! Helf! Jelf! There can’t be a word to fit the 
rhyme. And then to look for a Brownie and see nothing but myself!” 

“Myself,” said the Echo. 

“Will you be quiet?” said Tommy. “If you would tell me the 











Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


37 


word there would be some sense in your interference; but to roar 
‘Myself!’ at me, which neither rhymes nor runs—it does rhyme, 
though, as it happens,” he added; “How very odd! it runs too— 

“ ‘Twist me and turn me and show me the Elf— 

I looked in the water and saw myself!’ 

“Which I certainly did. What can it mean? The Old Owl 
knows, as Granny would say; so I shall go back and ask her.” 

And back he went. There sat the Old Owl as before. 

“Oohoo!” said she, as Tommy climbed up. “What did you see 
in the lake?” 

“I saw nothing but myself,” said Tommy, indignantly. 

“And what did you expect to see?” said the Owl. 

“I expected to see a Brownie,” said Tommy; “you told me so.” 

“And what are Brownies like, pray?” inquired the Owl. 

“The one Granny knew was a useful little fellow, something 
like a little man,” said Tommy. 

“Ah!” said the Owl, ‘.‘but you know at present this one is an idle 
















38 


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fellow, something like a little man. Oohoo! oohoo! Are you quite 
sure you didn’t see him?” 

“Quite,” answered Tommy sharply, “I saw no one but myself.” 

“Hoot! toot! How touchy we are! And who are you, pray?” 

“I’m not a Brownie,” said Tommy. 

“Don’t be too sure,” said the Owl. “Did you find out the word 
that rhymed with Elf?” 

“No,” said Tommy, “I could find no word with any meaning that 
would rhyme, except ‘myself.’ ” 

“Well, if ‘myself’ rhymes,” said the Owl, “what more do you 
want?” 

“I don’t understand,” said Tommy, humbly, “you know I’m not 
a Brownie.” 

“Yes you are,” said the Owl, “and a very idle one, too. All 
children are Brownies.” 

“But I couldn’t do work like a Brownie,” said Tommy. 

“Why not?” inquired the Owl. “Couldn’t you sweep the floor, 
light the fire, spread the table, tidy the room, fetch the turf, pick 
up your own chips and sort your grandmother’s scraps?” 

“Please,” said Tommy, “I should like to go home now and tell 
Johnny.” 

“Very well,” said the Old Owl, “I think I had better take you.” 

“I know the way, thank you.” said Tommy. 

“Do as I say,” said the Owl. “Lean your full weight against 
me and shut your eyes.” 

Tommy laid his head against the Owl’s feathers. Down he sank 
and sank. He could feel nothing solid—he jumped with a start to 
save himself, opened his eyes, and found that he was sitting in the 
loft with Johnny sleeping by his side. And what was odder still, it 
was no longer moonlight, but early dawn. 

“Get up, Johnny, I’ve a story to tell you,” he cried. And while 
Johnny sat up and rubbed his eyes, he told him all about it. 

And after that Tommy and Johnny were the most useful little 
Brownies in that whole country. 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


39 



'Boots and His Brothers 


HERE was once a man who had three sons, Peter, Paul and 



- L Espen. Espen was the youngest; so he was called Boots, of 
course. Now this man had not much else except his three sons, for 
to tell you the truth, he had not one penny to rub against another. 
He told his sons over and over again that they must go out into the 
world to earn their living, for there was nothing for them at home. 

Now, a good way from the man’s poor little hut was the King’s 
palace, and it would have been a very fine palace except for one 
thing. A great oak had sprung up, close beside the palace windows, 
so thick and stout that it kept out the light and the whole palace 
was darkened. The King had sent for his wood cutters and bade 
them cut down the tree, but no one was man enough for that, for as 
soon as ever one chip was hacked off, two chips grew in its place 
and instead of being cut down, that oak tree grew steadily larger, 
and the palace grew darker. 

There was another thing the King wished to have done. He 
wished to have a well dug, deep enough to hold water for a whole 
year. All his neighbors had such wells, and he could see no reason 
why he should not have one also. No one was able to dig that well, 
however, for the King’s castle lay on a rocky hill and after a little 
digging he would come to solid rock, with no sign of water. But 
as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he 
gave it out through his kingdom that to any man who could cut 
down the oak tree and dig him a well deep enough to hold water 
for a whole year, he would give the Princess for a bride, and half 
the kingdom into the bargain. 
































40 


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You may well believe there were many men who came to try 
their luck, but for all their hacking and hewing and all their dig¬ 
ging and delving, the tree was no nearer cut down and the well was 
no nearer dug. At last, Peter, Paul and Espen heard about it, and 
they decided to try their fortune. Their father had not a word to 
say against it, but wished them Godspeed and sent them on their way. 

The three brothers had not gone far before they came to a wood, 
and up among the trees they could hear a strange noise. 

“I wonder what that is?” said Boots. 

“Oh, you are always wondering about something, and much good 
it ever does you,” said his brothers. “What should it be, but a wood¬ 
cutter chopping at a tree?” 

“I don’t know,” said Boots, “but I think I’ll see for myself.” 

So Boots started up the hill, while his brothers laughed and 
made fun of him. When he came to the top, what do you think he 
found? An axe hacking and hewing at a tree all by itself! 

“Good day,” said Boots. 

“Good day,” said the Axe. 

“So you hack and hew all by yourself?” 

“Yes,” said the Axe, “and I have been hacking and hewing all 
these years waiting for you, Boots.” 

“Well, thank you kindly, and here I am at last,” said Boots; and 
he took the axe out of the tree, put it in his big bag and ran back 
to his brothers. When they saw him they began to laugh, and they 

called out: 

“And what was the noise we heard?” 

“It was the noise of an axe.” 

“Didn’t we tell you so?” jeered the brothers, 
and the three lads travelled on. 

When they had gone a bit farther, they came 
to a steep spur of rock and somewhere up at the 
top of it, they could hear a queer noise. 

“I wonder what that is?” said Boots. 

















Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


41 



“Oh, there you go wondering again! You are a clever one, you 
are; what should it be but someone shovelling up there?” said the 
brothers. 

“Ah, but that is what I do not know,” answered Boots, “but I 
think I will have a look for myself.” And he started to climb the 
rock, while his brothers rested in the road and laughed at him. 

When he came to the top, what should he find but a spade, dig¬ 
ging and delving in the solid rock all by itself. 

“Good day to you,” said Boots. 

“Good day to you,” said the Spade. 

“So you dig and delve in the rock all by yourself?” asked Boots. 

“Yes,” said the Spade, “and I have been digging and delving all 
these years waiting for you, Boots.” 

“Well, thank you kindly, and here I am at last;” and Boots took 
the spade out of the rock, put it in his big bag and ran back to 
his brothers. 

“Well, Mr. Wonderer, what was the noise we heard this time?” 
they asked. 



























































42 


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“It was the noise of a spade at work in the rock,” said Boots. 

“Just what we told you!” said the brothers, and they all trav¬ 
elled on. 

As they were walking, they found themselves by a stream of 
water, and as they were thirsty they all stopped to drink. As Boots 
drank, he watched the water of the little stream trickling and run¬ 
ning down, and presently he said: 

“You know I cannot help wondering where this water comes 
from.” 

“Oh, there he goes wondering again!” cried the brothers. “He 
wonders and wonders until it is a wonder he has any wits left. 
Where do you suppose the water comes from except a hole in the 
ground?” 

“That is just what I don’t know, but I’ve a mind to see for 
myself.” And while his brothers rested in the shade, Boots began 
to walk up the stream. 

As he walked farther, the water grew less and less, and at last 
it was just a tiny trickle of water, and you could never guess what 
it was coming out of. A hole in a walnut shell! 

“Why, how-do-you-do,” said Boots. 

“How-do-you-do,” said the Water. 

“So you trickle and run down all by yourself?” 

“Yes,” said the Water, “and I have been trickling and running 
down all these years waiting for you, Boots.” 

“Oh, thank you kindly, and here I am at last;” and Boots picked 
up the walnut shell, plugged up the hole with moss so the water 
could not run out, and hurried back to his brothers. 

“Well now, Boots, have you found what the water comes out of?” 
they asked him. 

“It did come out of a hole, but-” 

“Just as we told you,” said the brothers; “and so all these journeys 
of yours have been for nothing.” Boots said never a word, and the 
brothers travelled on. 




Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


43 


They came at last to the King’s palace, and you must know that 
many men had been there before them, trying to cut down the great 
tree, but for all their hacking and hewing and all their digging and 
delving, the tree was no nearer cut down and the well was no nearer 
dug. Indeed, the tree had grown so much larger that the King had 
sent out word that any man who tried to cut down the tree and failed 
should be put off on an island for the rest of his life. You may well 
believe not very many men were trying, but Peter, Paul and Espen 
decided that they would take their turns. Peter was the oldest, so 
he said that he should have the first turn. He took the axe the King’s 
men gave him and began to hack and hew at the tree with might and 
main, but the people were all watching him, and they saw the tree 
begin to grow larger; so they seized Peter, and off with him to an 
island for the rest of his life! 

Then Paul said that he should have the next turn; so he took the 
axe the King’s men gave him and he began to hack and hew with 
all his might. The people were watching, and as soon as they saw 
the tree begin to grow larger, they seized Paul, and it was off with 
him to an island for the rest of his life! Then Espen was ready to 
take his turn, but when the King saw how it had fared with Peter 
and Paul, he said: 

“Now, Boots, you had better let well enough alone. If your two 
brothers could not cut down the tree, it is not likely that you will be 
able to, and there is no use spending the rest of your life on an island 
if you can help it.” 

“But you gave me permission,” said Boots, “so I think I will try 
for myself.” And there was nothing more the King could say. 

Boots went up to the tree, and he drew his own axe out of his 
bag, and swinging it high, he drove it into the tree, saying: 

“Now, Axe, hack and hew for yourself.” 

That axe began to hack and hew, so that chips from the tree flew 
this way and that, and the people who were looking on saw the great 
tree begin to tremble. Then the next thing they knew it came crash* 



44 


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ing to the ground, and the King saw the sunlight come streaming 
into his palace windows. 

All the people began to shout, “Three cheers for Boots!” and 
even the King himself joined in the cheering, but all Boots said, was, 

“Where do you wish to have your well dug?” 

“Right over here,” said the King’s men, politely, and pointed to 
a rocky plain. 

Boots took his own spade out of his bag and with all the strength 
he had, he drove it into the rock, crying, 

“Now, Spade, dig and delve for yourself!” 

The spade began to dig and delve in the solid rock, so that great 
pieces of the rock flew this way and that, and the King’s men had to 
step out of the way of the flying pieces. In less time than it takes 
me to tell you, the well was dug, and all the people started to shout 
for Boots, but one of the King’s men looked over the edge of the 
rock and said: 













































Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


45 


“Oh, Boots, that is a very fine hole you have dug, but where is 
the water?” 

“Just give me time,” said Boots, and he took the walnut shell out 
of his pocket, and taking the moss out of the hole, he put it in the 
bottom of the well, saying, 

“Now Walnut, now Water, trickle and run for yourself.” 

The water began to trickle and run, and it came gushing out of 
that walnut shell so that it quickly filled the hole to the top, with 
water enough to last a year. 

Then you should have heard the shouting! The people and the 
King’s men threw their caps up in the air and cried: 

“Three cheers for Boots!” and even the King himself joined in 
the cheering. 

After that, of course, Boots got the Princess for his bride and 
half the kingdom into the bargain, and do you know that, just 
between you and me, it was a very good thing that Peter and Paul 
were off on that island, else they would have heard all the people 
saying: 

“Well, something did come of Espen’s wondering after all!” 

—Adapted from Sir George Webbe Dasent: 

Popular Tales from the Norse. 


THE BANDOG 

Has anybody seen my Mopser; 

A comely dog is he, 

With hair the color of a Charles the Fifth 
And teeth like ships at sea. 

His tail it curls straight upwards, 

His ears stand two abreast, 

And he answers to the simple name of Mopser, 
When civilly addressed. 

—Walter De La Mare. 



By permission Henry Holt & Company 



46 


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Clouds and Waves 

l\/rOTHER, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me, 
“We play from the time we wake till the day ends. 

We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.” 

I ask, “But, how am I to get up to you?” 

They answer, “Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your hands 
to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds.” 

“My mother is waiting for me at home,” I say. “How can I 
leave her and come?” 

Then they smile and float away. 

But I know a nicer game than that, mother. 

I shall be the cloud and you the moon. 

I shall cover you with both hands, and our housetop will be the 
blue sky. 

The folk who live in the waves call out to me, 

“We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and 
know not where we pass.” 

I ask, “But, how am I to join you?” 

They tell me, “Come to the edge of the shore and stand with 
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves.” 

I say, “My mother always wants me at home in the evening; how 
can I leave her and go?” Then they smile, dance and pass by. 

But I know a better game than that. 

I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore. 

I shall roll on, and on, and on, and break upon your lap with 
laughter. And no one in the world will know where we both are. 

—From “The Crescent Moon 

By Rabindranath Tagore; by permission The Macmillan Company. Copyright: 1913. 
































Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


47 



The Wind and the Sun 

r T A HE Wind once blustered to the Sun as he shook the tall treetops 
and set all the leaves a-trembling: 

“Ho! Ho! friend S un, see how strong I am. You could never do 
that! Watch me! I can bend the great trees and break the little 
flowers off their stems.” 

The Sun answered, quietly, “Yes, but I can melt the ice and 
make the flowers and trees blossom.” 

Still the Wind went on blustering and boasting and shaking the 
treetops. 

Presently they saw a man coming down the road. Then the Sun 
said, “I know how we can prove which one of us is the stronger. 
Whichever can make that man take off his coat, wi*ll be shown to be 
stronger than the other. You try first.” 

So the Sun hid his big round face behind a cloud, and the Wind 
began to blow as hard as he could upon the man. He raged, and he 
snarled, and he howled! He whipped, and he tore, and he tugged! 
But the harder he tried in these ways to force the man to take off 
his coat, the more closely did the man wrap it around him, till at last 
the Wind found that he could do nothing, and he had to give up 
trying altogether. 

Then the Sun came gently out from behind the clouds. Warm 
and bright, he shone on the man; joyous and sparkling, he smiled 
on him, till at last the man felt that warmth all through and through. 
He looked up with an answering smile at the shining round face in 
the sky, then of his own wish he took off his coat. So the Sun had 
proved that his mild gentleness was far more powerful than all the 
wild bluster of the Wind. 













48 The Foundation Library 



The Tad IT ho Went to the T\(orth Wind 


r T A HERE once lived an old woman with her only son. She was very 
A poorly and weak; so the lad tried to help her in every way that 
he could. One day, he went to the storehouse to get his old mother a 
pan full of meal. Just as he came out on the steps of the storehouse, 
along came the North Wind, with a huff and a puff, and caught up 
that flour and so away with it through the air. The lad returned to 
the storehouse, helped himself to another pan full of meal, and started 
home with it, but just as he came out on the steps, it happened as be¬ 
fore. Along came the North Wind with a huff and a puff, caught 
up that meal and so away with it through the air. What is more, 
he did it a third time. Then the lad was very angry. 

“There is nothing for it,” said he, “but I must go to the North 
Wind’s house and bid him give me back the meal he has taken away 
from us.” 













































































Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


49 


So the lad set out to find the North Wind. It was a long and 
weary road he had to travel, but at last he saw the North Wind him¬ 
self, leaning out of the window of his house. 

“Good day,” said the lad politely. “Good day, yourself,” roared 
the North Wind, “and what have you come bothering me about?” 

“I’ve come about my rights,” said the lad. “You took away my 
meal from me three times, and my mother and I will have nothing to 
eat unless you give me back my rights for that meal.” 

“Oh, indeed,” puffed the North Wind; “well, I do not know 
where your meal is now, but here is a tablecloth I will give you. It 
really is a very good cloth. When you say to it, ‘Cloth, cloth, spread 
yourself, and serve up good dishes,’ it will serve the very things you 
like to eat, until you say to it, ‘Cloth, cloth, stop serving.’ ” 

“That must be a very fine cloth to have,” said the lad, and he 
thanked the North Wind very prettily for the cloth and started home. 

The way was long and night was coming, so presently, when the 
lad saw an inn near the road side, he decided to spend the night there. 
He went inside, and as he had no money to pay for his supper, he 
made haste to say: 

“Cloth, cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kinds of good 
dishes.” 

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, before that cloth had 
spread itself, and there it was, covered with every good thing to eat, 
ail piping hot. Of course, the lad was well pleased with his cloth, 
and so was everyone who stood around, especially the landlord. That 
night when the lad was asleep, the landlord took the cloth the North 






















50 


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Wind had given the lad, and put one that looked just like it in its 
place, but one that could not serve up so much as a crust of dry bread. 

The next morning, the lad knowing nothing of the change, started 
home with his tablecloth. He trudged along, and presently he saw 
his mother. 

“Good day, mother,” he called gaily. 

“Good day, indeed, and where have you been all this long time?” 
asked his old mother. 

“Oh I have been to the North Wind, and a pretty good fellow he 
is, after all. He said he did not know where our meal was, but he 
has given me a table cloth that serves up all kinds of good dishes, 
when I bid it.” 

“Very true, I daresay,” said the old mother, “but seeing is be¬ 
lieving and I’ll never believe that till I see it.” 

So the lad made haste to say, “Cloth, cloth, spread yourself and 
serve up all kinds of good dishes.” But, of course, not so much as a 
crust of dry bread could that cloth serve. Then the lad was very 
angry. 

“That is a very poor trick the North Wind has played us truly, 
and there is nothing for it, but I must go to him once more and get 
back our rights for that meal he took away from us.” 

The lad set off as before, and walked many a weary mile before 
he came in sight of the North Wind’s house. There, as before, the 
North Wind was leaning out of his window. When he saw the lad, 
he puffed out his cheeks angrily and shouted: 

“Well, my lad, what are you doing here?” 

“I’ve come to see about my rights for that meal you took away 
from us,” said the lad boldly. “As for that cloth you gave me, it can¬ 
not serve up so much as a crust of dry bread.” 

“Is that so?” said the North Wind, looking puzzled. “Well, 
here is a ram I might give you. It really is a very good ram; for 
when you say to it, ‘Ram, ram, coin money,’ it coins handfuls of gold 
pieces.” 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


51 


“I shall be very glad to have that kind of a ram, and thank you 
kindly,” said the lad. Then, taking the ram by the horns, he started 
leading him home. 

As before, night was coming, and the way was long; so the lad 
stopped at the inn to spend the night. He had no money to pay for 
his supper; so he said: 

“Ram, ram, coin money.” 

Scarcely had he said the words before that ram had coined a fine 
handful of gold pieces. The lad thought this was, indeed, a fine 
ram to have, and so did everyone who saw it, especially that old land¬ 
lord. At night, when the lad was asleep, the landlord took the ram 
the North Wind had given the lad and put one that looked just like 
it in its place, but one that could not coin so much as a copper penny. 

The next morning the poor lad, knowing nothing of this, started 
home with his ram. When he saw his mother, he called out to her: 

“Good day to you, mother; see what I have this time.” 

“What is it?” asked the old woman. 

“It is a gift from the North Wind. He could not understand 
about the cloth; so he has given me a ram that coins gold pieces when 
I ask it.” 

“Oh, very true, I daresay, but seeing is believing, and I’ll never 
believe that until I see it,” said his old mother. 

The lad made haste to say, “Ram, ram, coin money!” But not 
so much as a copper penny could that old ram coin. The poor lad 
felt very foolish and very angry. 

“What does the North Wind mean by such a trick?” said he. 
“I’ll go to him at once and tell him what I think of his befooling us 
in this way!” And the poor boy set off once more for the North 
Wind’s house. 

It was a long, hard journey, and the lad was so weary it seemed 
to him he could never take another step, when he heard the North 
Wind’s loud voice, and there he was, leaning out of his window. 

“You here again!” he roared at the lad. 




52 


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“That I am, and it was a poor trick you played on me with that 
old ram. It could not coin so much as a copper penny; so I am back 
to get my rights for that meal you took away from us.” 

“Well, well, my lad, remember this, I have just one thing left to 
give you and that is a stick! It is a good stick, however. When you 
say to it, ‘Stick, stick, lay on,’ it will lay on hard and fast until you 
say to it, ‘Stick, stick, stop beating.’ ” 

The lad thought that might be better than nothing, so he thanked 
the North Wind prettily for the stick, and started home with it. As 
before, he stopped at the inn to spend the night, but by this time, he 
had an idea of what had happened to his tablecloth and his ram; so 
he stretched himself out on a bench and pretended to go to sleep. 
His stick he laid on the floor at his feet. 

Presently, the landlord came in, and when he saw that stick 
beside the lad, he thought at once, that it must be a magic stick. He 
hurried out of doors, found a stick that looked like the lad’s, carried 
it in very softly, put it by the bench, and started across the room with 
the stick the North Wind had given the lad. Then the lad sat up, 
and called out, “Stick, stick, lay on!” 

The stick began to lay on, and it laid on hard and fast, beating 
the landlord until he jumped over tables, chairs and benches, call¬ 
ing out: 

“Stop your old stick! Hi-yi, hi-yi! Stop your old stick beating 
me, and I will give you back your tablecloth and ram.’” 



















Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


53 


But the lad let the stick beat the landlord until he thought he 
had had a good sound trouncing; then he said: 

“Stick, stick, stop beating,” and the stick stopped. 

The landlord was glad enough to give the lad his tablecloth and 
ram, and go away and nurse his poor back. 

The lad put the cloth in his bag, took the ram by the horns and 
with the stick in his other hand, he set off for home. So with the 
tablecloth, the ram and the stick the North Wind had given him, 
the lad and his old mother have prospered from that day to this. So 
I have been told. 

—Adapted from Sir George Webbe Dasent: 

Popular Tales from the Norse. 



THE FRIENDLY COW 


The friendly cow all red and white, 

I love with all my heart; 

She gives me cream with all her might, 

To eat with apple-tart. 

She wanders lowing here and there, 

And yet she cannot stray, 

All in the pleasant open air, 

The pleasant light of day; 

And blown by all the winds that pass, 

And wet with all the showers, 

She walks among the meadow grass, 

And eats the meadow flowers. 

—Robert Louis Stevenson. 




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HOW CREATURES MOVE 
The lion walks on padded paws, 

The squirrel leaps from limb to limb, 

While flies can crawl straight up a wall 
And seals can dive and swim. 

The worm, he wiggles all around, 

The monkey swings by his tail, 

And birds may hop upon the ground 
Or spread their wings and sail. 

But boys and girls 
Have much more fun; 

They leap and dance 
And walk and run. 

—Unknown. 


OLD NED, MY HORSE 
Old Ned has two eyes that go 
blink, blink, blink; 

And two ears that go 

twitch, twitch, twitch; 

And a mouth full of teeth that 
click, click when he eats, 

And a tail that goes 

swish, swish, swish. 

Old Ned has four legs that go 
trot, trot, trot; 

And four hoofs that go 
clack, clack, clack; 

So he gallops and runs and walks and trots, 
While I sit high up on his back. 

—Unknown. 


























Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


55 



(^Mother Frost 

'T'HERE was once a widow who had two daughters, one of whom 
A was very beautiful and a great help about the house, while the 
other was ugly and idle. Strange to say, the mother loved the ugly 
one better, and she made the gentle, patient child do all of the hard 
work. Every day the poor girl had to sit beside a spring, and spin 
and spin till her fingers bled. 

One day when her spindle was so red with blood that the poor 
girl could not spin, she tried to wash it in the water of the spring; 
but the spindle fell out of her hand and sank to the bottom. With 
tears in her eyes, she ran and told her mother what she had done. 

The mother scolded her, and was so angry that she said, “Since 
you have let the spindle fall into the spring, you must go in and 
get it out.” 

Then the maiden went back to the spring to look for her spindle. 
Now she leaned so far over the edge of the spring that she fell in 
and sank down, down to the very bottom. 

When the poor girl first awoke, she could not think what had 
happened, but as she came to herself, she found that she was in a 
beautiful field, on which the sun shone brightly and where hundreds 
of wild-flowers grew. 

She walked a long way across the field till she came to a baker’s 
oven, full of new bread, and the loaves cried to her, “Oh, pull us 
outl pull us out! or we shall burn! we shall burn!” 

“Ah, that would be a pity!” cried the maiden, and stepping up, 
she pulled all the sweet brown loaves out of the oven. 


















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As she walked along, she soon came to a tree full of apples, and 
the tree cried: “Shake me! shake me! my apples are all quite ripe.” 

The kind-hearted girl shook the tree again and again, till there 
was not an apple left on its branches. Then she picked up the apples 
one by one and piled them in a great heap. 

At last she came to a small house. In the doorway sat an old 
woman, who had such large teeth that it made the girl feel quite 
afraid of her, and she turned to run away. 

But the old woman cried, “What do you fear, my child? Come 
in, and live here with me; and if you will do the work about the 
house, I will be very kind to you. But remember, you must take 
care to make my bed well, and to shake it and pound it, so that the 
feathers will fly about, and down in the world they will say that it 
snows, for I am Mother Frost.” 

The old woman spoke so kindly that she quite won the maiden’s 
heart, and she said she would gladly work for her. 

The girl did everything well, and each day she shook up the 
bed until it was soft and nice, so that the feathers might fly down 
like snowflakes. Her life with Mother Frost was a very happy one; 
she had plenty to eat and drink, and never once heard an angry word. 

After the girl had stayed a long time with the kind old woman, 
she began to feel lonely, for she never saw anyone but Mother 
Frost. She grew quite homesick, and at last, when she could stand 
it no longer, she said, “Dear Mother Frost, you have been very kind 
to me, but I feel in my heart that I cannot stay here any longer; 
1 must go back to my own friends.” 

“I am pleased to hear you say that you wish to go home,” said 
Mother Frost, “and as you have worked for me so well, I will show 
you the way myself.” 

So she took the maiden by the hand and led her to a broad gate¬ 
way. The gate was open, and as the young girl walked through, a 
shower of gold fell over her and hung to her clothes, so that she 
was dressed in gold from her head to her feet. 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


57 



“That is your pay for having worked so hard,” and as the old 
woman spoke, she put into the maiden’s hand the spindle which 
had fallen into the spring. 

Then the great gate was closed, and the maiden found herself 
once more in the world, and not far from her mother’s house. As 
she came into the farmyard, a cock on the wall crowed loudly to 
the mother, “Cock-a-doodle-do! our golden girl has come home 
to you.” 

When the mother saw the maiden with her golden dress, she 
was delighted and treated her kindly. After the girl had told how 
the gold had fallen upon her, the mother could hardly wait to have 
her idle, ugly child try her luck in the same way. So she said to 
her, “Now you must go to the spring and spin.” But this girl wished 
for riches without working, so she did not spin fast enough to make 
her fingers bleed, but had to prick her finger, and put her hand into 
the thorn bushes, until at last a few drops of blood stained the 
spindle. At once she let it drop into the water, and sprang in after 

it herself. 




































58 


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Just as her sister had done, the ugly girl found herself in a beau¬ 
tiful field, and walked along the same path till she came to the 
baker’s oven. 

She heard the loaves cry, “Pull us out! pull us out! or we shall 
burn! we shall burn!” 

But the lazy girl answered, “I will not do it; I do not want to 
soil my hands in your dirty oven.” 

And so she walked on till she came to the apple tree. “Shake 
me! shake me!” it cried, “for my apples are all quite ripe.” 

“I will not do it,” answered the girl, “for some of your apples 
might fall on my head.” As she spoke, she walked lazily on. 

When at last the girl stood before the door of Mother Frost’s 
house, she had no fear of the great teeth, for her sister had told her 
all about them. So she walked up to the old woman and offered to 
be her servant. “Very well,” said the old woman, “but remember 
to shake my feather bed.” 

For a whole day the girl was very busy, and did everything that 
she was told to do; but on the second day, she began to be lazy, and 
on the third day, she was still worse. She would not get up in the 
morning; the bed was never made or shaken, so the feathers could 
fly about; till at last Mother Frost grew quite tired of her, and told 
her that she must go away. 

The lazy girl was indeed glad to go, and thought only of the 
golden rain which was sure to come when Mother Frost led her to 
the gate; but as she passed under it, a large kettleful of black pitch 
was upset over her. 

“That is what you get for your work,” said the old woman, and 
shut the gate. 

So the idle girl walked home all covered with pitch, and as she 
went into the farmyard, the cock on the wall cried out to the mother, 
“Cock-a-doodle-doo! our pitchy girl has come home to you.” 

The pitch stuck so fast to the girl’s clothes and hair that, do what 
she would, it never came off. —Adapted from Grimm. 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


59 



The Shoemaker and the Elves 

ONG ago there lived an old shoemaker and his wife. They 
were honest, hard-working people, but they could not seem to 
sell the shoes the good man made, and so they grew very poor. At 
last the shoemaker had only leather enough to make one pair of 
shoes. He cut out the shoes very carefully and laid the pieces of 
leather on his work-bench, ready to cobble the next morning. Then 
the shoemaker and his good wife ate their last crust of bread, said 
their prayers and went sorrowfully to bed. 

Bright and early the next morning the shoemaker went to his 
bench ready to begin work on the shoes. There what should be find 
but a pair of shoes all stitched and cobbled as well as the best shoe¬ 
maker could make them! The good man could hardly believe his 
eyes, and he called out: 

“Oh, good wife, good wife, come here quickly, and see what has 
happened this night!” 

The good wife came running, and when she saw the shoes, she 
said: 

“Well-a-day, husband, did you get up in the middle of the night 
to make those fine shoes?” 

“No, that I did not,” said the husband, “and I am wondering 
who it was that did make them.” 

“Well, well, there’s no time for wondering now,” said the wife. 
“See, here is a customer.” 

Sure enough, at that very moment, in came a man who wished 
to buy a pair of shoes, and when he saw the pair the shoemaker held 
in his hand, he said they were the best shoes he had ever seen. He 



















60 


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tried them on, they fitted, and the man paid the 
shoemaker a good price and went away with the 
shoes, well pleased. 

As for the good man, he had money enough to 
buy leather for two pairs of shoes, and some food 
besides. That night, the shoemaker cut out the 
leather, put the pieces on his work-bench, and 
after a good supper he and his wife said their 
prayers and went contentedly to bed. 

The next morning, the good man went to his 
bench to begin work as before, and there he found two pairs of shoes 
all stitched and cobbled as well as the best shoemaker could make 
them. Again the good man was surprised, and he called: 

“Oh, good wife, good wife, come here quickly, and see what has 
happened this night.” 

The good wife came running, and when she saw her husband 
holding two pairs of shoes in his hand, she said: 

“Well-a-day, husband, you must have cobbled all night to have 
finished these shoes.” 

“But that I did not,” said the shoemaker, “and who has made 
them is a great mystery.” 

“No time for talking now,” said the good wife, “for here are 
two customers.” 

Those customers were also well pleased with the shoes. They 
bought them at once, and paid a good price for them. Then the 
shoemaker had money enough to buy leather for four pairs of shoes 
and enough food for several days. 

Now, it happened in this way, every night. The shoemaker 
would cut out the leather, the next morning he would find the shoes 
all finished on his bench, and customers would come and buy them. 
They paid him a good price, too; for they said the shoes were well 
made. So the good man and his wife prospered; they had plenty for 
themselves and some of their neighbors as well. 












Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


61 



One day the shoemaker and his wife were talking things over. 

“I cannot help wondering who it is that makes the shoes,” said 
the shoemaker. 

“Indeed, it is a great wonder,” answered the good wife, “and 
something we should be thankful for.” 

“Do you suppose we could find out who it is that comes in the 
night?”’ asked her husband. 

“Yes, I believe we could, if we hid behind the curtain in the 
work-room and watched all night,” said the wife. 

This they decided to do. So that night, they put out all the 
lights except one wee candle flame on the bench near the pieces of 
leather. Then, the good man and his wife hid themselves behind 
the curtain and waited. The house was still, and they grew sleepy. 
















































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Presently the clock struck ten. “Oh dear!” said the good wife, “I 
am so sleepy, how shall I ever keep awake?” 

“Oh, but you must,” answered the good man, “for we must find 
out who has been helping us.” 

Then the house seemed quieter than ever, and after a long time, 
the clock struck eleven. 

“Oh me!” said the shoemaker, “I am very sleepy.” 

“Hush!” whispered his wife. “You must keep awake and quiet, 
for someone might come at any moment.” 

Then after a long, long time, the clock struck twelve, and on the 
last stroke of twelve, the candle on the work-bench began to flicker, 
there was a rustling sound at the window, and into the room tumbled 
a troop of wee elves. They were funny little fellows, with big eyes 
and pointed ears, but they were so ragged and bare they seemed 
scarcely to have any clothes to their backs. Without a word they 
jumped up on the shoemaker’s bench, picked up the pieces of leather 
and set to work. Their little needles went: 

Stitch, stitch, stitch, and stitch, stitch, stitch. 

While their tiny hammers went: 

Rap-a-tap-tap, and rap-a-tap-tap, making quite a merry little 
tune. 

They worked so fast their fingers seemed to fly, and in just a lit¬ 
tle while there were those pieces of leather all stitched and cobbled 
into shoes. 

When their work was finished, they jumped down from the bench 
and began to play. They jumped, danced, turned somersaults, 
and cut such funny capers that the shoemaker and his wife had 
all they could do to keep from laughing, but they never made 
a sound. Then, just as the clock struck two, the elves stopped their 
play, and with a hop and a skip, out of the window they went 
and away. 

The next morning the shoemaker and his wife were talking about 
the little elves. 



Nursery Rhymes and Stories 


63 


“What funny little fellows they were,” said the good man, “but 
they have been good to us, and I wish we could do something for 
them.” 

“So we can,” answered his wife. “Did you notice how ragged 
and bare they were? It is clothes they are needing, and you and 
I will make them some for Christmas.” 

From that day on, the shoemaker and his wife were very busy 
making ready for the elves’ Christmas surprise. It was hard work, 
too, making such teeny, tiny clothes. At last Christmas Eve came, 
and instead of putting out the pieces of leather on the work-bench, 
the good man and his good wife laid out the little suits of clothes. 
There were little yellow trousers, green jackets, tiny, purple shoes 
with long pointed toes, and gay red caps, each with a white owl’s 
feather. When all was ready, the shoemaker and his wife hid 
behind the curtain. There was only one candle burning on the 
work-bench. 

The house was quiet and the clock struck ten. Then, it grew 
quieter still, and the clock struck eleven. Then after a long time, 
the clock struck twelve! On the last stroke of twelve, the candle 
flame began to flicker, there was a rustling at the window and into 
the room tumbled the troop of wee elves. They were as ragged and 
tattered as before. It was a cold night and so they hopped and 
skipped faster than ever. Up the work-bench they scrambled, ready 
to go to work, and then, they found the gay little clothes, just the 
kind elves like. Their big eyes grew bigger, they stood on their 
heads with delight, and leaped and capered with joy. Then they 
pulled on the yellow trousers, buttoned up the green jackets, drew 
on the purple shoes, patted their long, pointed toes, and last of all, 
they clapped on their heads those little red caps with white owl’s 
feathers. They were really a very handsome looking troop of elves, 
and the proudest ones you ever saw. They stretched, and strutted, 
and turned this way and that, admiring each other, until, suddenly, 
the clock struck two. Then they leaped to the window sill, turned 



64 


The Foundation Library 


back to wave good-bye, and in a final whirl of green, yellow, purple 
and red, they flew out of the window and away. 

. The shoemaker and his wife never saw them again, but the elves 
must have brought them good luck, for the good man and his good 
wife have prospered from that day to this. 

—Adapted from Grimm. 



I know a little cupboard, 
With a teeny, tiny key, 

And there’s a jar of Lollypops 
For me, me, me. 




It has a little shelf, my dear, 

As dark as dark can be, 

And there’s a dish of Banbury Cakes 
For me, me, me. 

I have a small, fat grandmamma, 

With a very slippery knee, 

And she’s the Keeper of the Cupboard, 
With a key, key, key. 

And when I’m very good, my dear, 

As good as good can be, 

There’s Banbury Cakes and Lollypops 
For me, me, me. 

—Walter De La Mare. 

By permission Henry Holt & Company. 


































































































66 


The Foundation Library 



OH, DEAR! WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE? 


J. J. | Ji ii i J. J. i J> Jv-i> =fi 


r r r- ’ p - p r r r 

Oh, dear! what can the mat-ter be? Oh, dear! what can themat-ter be? 


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John-n/s so late at the 

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fair. He prom-ised to bring - me a bunch of blue rib-bons, He 


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Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


67 


HOT CROSS BUNS 



POLLY, PUT THE KETTLE ON 




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68 


The Foundation Library 























































































































































































Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


69 



' Ul SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE 

% A . ■ 



fh a 




j) . ;3 j) ^ - ^ 


m 


1 Smg a songof 

2 The King-was ini 


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pence,a pock-et full of —rye. Four andtwen-ty 

t-inghouse count-ingout his mon-ey The Queen was in her 



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black-birds baked in a pie; 
par- lor eat- ingbreadand hon-ey; 


When the pie was o-pened, The 
Themaidwas in the gar-den 


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birds be-gan to sing; 

Was not that a dain-ty dish to set 

be - fore the King? 

hang-ing out the clothes, 

There came a lit-tle black-bird and snaptoffherr 

lose. 

qry- 

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The Foundation Library 


MISTRESS MARY, QUITE CONTRARY 


n i i k 






4-1) ■ —Nr-p| J) | l \ 


Mis-tress hi 

f • 

r^i v~ p - * 

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[a-ry, quite con-tra-ry, How does your gar-den grow? With 

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sil-verbells and cock- le shells, And pret-ty maids all of a row. 



PAT A CAKE (Baby’s Hand Play) 



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Pat a cake,pat a cake. ba - kePs 

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mark it with B, 

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NOTE. — Fof'B" and"Babj” use the proper initial and name (P- PtUr, 0 — Gladys, etc.), if jiraferrtd. 































































































































































Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


71 


GEORGY PORGY 


eM=b= 

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J'-hJ Ji r K-k ^ 

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Geor-g-y Per - g-y pud-ding-and pie, Kissed the g-irls and made them 

r 

cry; 


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HUMPTY DUMPTY 


HUMPTY DUMPTY 


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Hump - ty Dump - ty 

sat on 

Hump - ty Dump - ty 

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72 


The Foundation Library 




OLD KING COLE 



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Old King - Cole was a 

mer-ry old soul, and a 

mer-ry old soul was 

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he; 

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call’d for his bowl, and he 

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called for his fid - dlers three. 

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had a fine fid die and a ver-y fine fid-dle had he; Then 


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twee,twee-dle-dee,twee-dledee,went the fid-dlers,And so mer-ry we will be. 



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Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


73 



HUSH-A-BYE, BABY 



f r r p~r r r r 

Hush-a-bye, ba - by, on the tree top,When the wind blows the cra-dlewill rock; 




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When the bough breaks the cra-dlewill fall; Down will come cra-dle and ba-by and all! 


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PUSSY CAT, PUSSY CAT, 

WHERE HAVE YCU BEEN? 


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Pus-sy cat, pus-sy cat, where have you been? 


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Lon-don to look at the Queen. 


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what did you there? 


J caught a lit-tie mouse un-der the chair. 




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74 


The Foundation Library 



HICKORY, DICKORY, DOCK 


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Hick-o - ry, dick-o - ry, dock, The 

F T T 

mouse ran up the clock; The 


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THREE LITTLE KITTENS 


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1 Three lit - tie kit-tens put on their mit-tens,To eat some Christ-mas 

2 Three lit - tie kit-tens they lost their mit-tens, And all be - gan to 

3 You naugh-ty kit-tens go find your mit-tens, Or you 6hall have no 

4 Three lit - tie kit-tens they found their mit-tens, And joy-ful - ly did 

5 Oh, gran-ny dear, our mit-tens are here,Make haste and cut the 


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pie. Miaou 

cry. Miaou 

pie! Miaou 

cry. Miaou 

pie! Purr-i 

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, miaou, miaou! 

, miaou, miaou! 

, miaou, miaou! 

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Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


75 


BABY BUNTING 






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Ba - by, ba - by Bunt - ing, Dad-d/s gone a - hunt 


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Gone to get a 

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rab-bit skin, To wrap the ba - by Bunt-ing in 




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COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO 



1 Cock-a - doo-dle - doo! My dame has lost her shoe! My 

2 Cock-a - doo-dle - doo! What is my dame to do? If 

3 Cock-a - doo-dle - doo! My dame has found her shoe. And 




P 




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f- r "Y- ^r 


mas-ter’s lost his fid-dling-stick,And we don’t know what to do! 

mas-ter finds his fid-dling-stick, She’ll dance with-out her shoe, 

mas-ter’s his fid-dling-stick, So she will dance with you. 



nr? 


















































































































































76 


The Foundation Library 




THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN 



for 


» % J> ! ■ i> 1 Jl J 1 JJ.Fp 


There was an old wo-mantoss’d up in a bas-ket Nine- teen times as 


i fUr F IrT-r § Ir- ^ 


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-K—V—. 

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For in her hands she b^r-ried a broom.“01d wom-an, old wom-an, old 


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Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


77 


CRADLE SONG 


English words by F R .R 


FRANZ SCHUBERT 



1 Sweet-ly slum-ber neath the or-chard shad-ow, Near thee mur-m’ring 

2 Sweet-ly slum-ber; o’er thine eye-lids ten-der Or-chard blos-soms 

3 Sweet-ly slum-ber while I bear thee home-ward; HeaVn grows dark-er, 


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soft the brook-let flows; Winds of spring-time gen - tly lull thee, 

waft their fra-grant snows; M^y they wake not, may they bring thee 

cold an east wind blows; In these arms sleep soft - ly, dar-ling, 



Moth-er’s dar-ling,moth-er’s op’n-ingrose. 

An-gel vi-sions,dew - y deep re-pose. 
Moth-er’s love, no change,no cold-nessknows. 





mmmM 























































































































































































78 


The Foundation Library 



GUARDIAN ANGELS 

(KINDERWACHT) 

ROBERT SCHUMANN Op. 79, No.21 


p Simply 



* T s 

—v- 

■ v — . i .i ■ 



-It P 4L-^-Je 

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- 

1 When 

chil-dren lay them 

down 

to sleep, 

Two 

2 But 

when they wake at 

dawn 

of day, 

Tho 



H U-. 5 -^-s N-L— C - 

»- ... ^ ff J '1 

^ J -- 7 - 



an-gels come,their watch to keep, Cov-er them up, 

two bright an-gels go a-way, Rest from their work of 





















































































































































































Nursery Songs and Lullabies 


79 


4 ^ 


s 


ev - ’ry harm, 
watch a - bove. 




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JAPANESE LULLABY 

Tune-TRADITIONAL 




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Now the sun is low, And the 
Thro’ the lone- ly night,When the 


night is fall - ing fast; Slum-ber 
stars are shin - ing high; I will 




SemprFcon Fed.~f~ 

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t 






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comes to thee at last, 
keep my dar-ling nigh, 


Sleep, my pret - ty babe. Birds and flow’rs and 
Sleep, my pret - ty babe. Birds and flow’rs and 



pret-ty maid-ens All have gone to rest, OhI sleep my pret-ty babe. 

m 4 -:d: 





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80 


The Foundation Library 


w *1 



DING-DONG BELL 




^ ^ ^ > 




Ding--dong - bell 


as 


3- 


Pus-sy’s in the well. 


r 

Who put her in? 


mmrn 


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Lit-tle John-ny Green, Who pull’d her out? 


Lit- tie John-ny Stout,What a 




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naugh-ty boy was that to tryanddrown poor pus-sy cat,Who ne’er did an-y harm, 


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But 

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killed all the 

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n his 

PrT 

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fa - ther’s barn 

: — ■"= - n i > \ 



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82 


The Foundation Library 



The Tale of Peter P^abbit 

/^NNCE upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names 

were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with 
their mother in a sandbank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree. 

“Now, my dears,” said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, “you may 
go into the fields or down the lane, but don’t go into Mr. McGregor’s 
garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by 
Mrs. McGregor.” 

“Now run along, and don’t get into mischief. I am going out.” 

Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went 
through the wood to the baker’s. She bought a loaf of brown bread 
and five currant buns. 

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, 
went down the lane to gather blackberries. 

But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. 
McGregor’s garden, and squeezed under the gate! 

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans, and then he 
had some radishes; and then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for 
some parsley. 

But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet 
but Mr. McGregor. 

Mr.McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young 
cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and 
calling out, “Stop, thief!” 














Animal Stories 


83 


Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the 
garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate. He lost one 
of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the 
potatoes. 

After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I 
think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately 
run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his 
jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new. 

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs 
were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great 
excitement and implored him to exert himself. 

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop 
upon the top of Peter, but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving 
his jacket behind him; and rushed into the toolshed, and jumped 
into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it 
had not had so much water in it. 

Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the 
tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to 
turn them over carefully, looking under each. 

Presently Peter sneezed—“Kerty-schoo!” Mr. McGregor was 
after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who 
jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was 
too small for Mr.McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. 
He went back to his work. 

Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with 
fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also, he 
was very damp with sitting in that can. 

After a time he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity— 
not very fast, and looking all around. 

He found a door in a wall, but it was locked, and there was no 
room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath. 

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, 
carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her 
the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that 



84 


The Foundation Library 


she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter 
began to cry. 

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but 
he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond 
where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring 
at some goldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip 
of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go 
away without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his 
cousin, little Benjamin Bunny. 

He went back toward the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close 
to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, 
scratch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But, presently, as 
nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow, 
and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing 
onions. His back was turned toward Peter, and beyond him was 

the gate! 

Peter got down very quietly 
off the wheelbarrow, and started 
running as fast as he could go 
along a straight walk behind 
some black-currant bushes. 

Mr. McGregor caught sight 
of him at the corner, but Peter 
did not care. He slipped un¬ 
derneath the gate, and was safe 
at last in the wood outside the 
garden. 

Mr. McGregor hung up the 
little jacket and the shoes for a 
scarecrow to frighten the black¬ 
birds. 

Peter never stopped run¬ 
ning or looked behind him till 
he got home to the big fir-tree. 

















Animal Stories 


85 



He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand 
on the floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes. 

Hi*s mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done 
with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes 
that Peter had lost in a fortnight! 

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. 

His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and 
she gave a dose of it to Peter! 

“One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.” 

But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and 
blackberries for supper. — Beatrix Potter. 























































86 


The Foundation Library 



/^vNCE upon a time, when pigs could talk and no one had ever 
heard of bacon, there lived an old piggy mother with her three 
little sons. 

They had a very pleasant home in the middle of an oak forest, 
and were all just as happy as the day was long, until one sad year the 
acorn crop failed; then, indeed, poor Mrs. Piggy-wiggy often had 
hard work to make both ends meet. - 

One day she called her sons to her, and, with tears in her eyes, 
told them that she must send them out into the wide world to seek 
their fortune. 

She kissed them all round, and the three little pigs set out upon 
their travels, each taking a different road, and carrying a bundle 
slung on a stick across his shoulder. 

The first little pig had not gone far before he met a man carrying 
a bundle of straw; so he said to him, “Please, man, will you give me 
that straw to build me a house?” The man was very good-natured, 
so he gave him the bundle of straw, and the little pig built a pretty 
little house with it. 

No sooner was it finished, and the little pig thinking of going to 
bed, than a wolf came along, knocked at the door, and said, “Little 
pig, little pig, let me come in.” 

But the little pig laughed softly, and answered, “No, no, by the 
hair of my chinny-chin-chin.” 















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Then said the wolf sternly, “I will make you let me in; for I’ll 
huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” 

So he huffed and he puffed, and he blew his house in, because, 
you see, it was only straw and too light; and when he had blown the 
house in, he ate up the little pig, and did not leave so much as the 
the tip of his tail. 

The second little pig also met a man, and he was carrying a bun¬ 
dle of furze; so piggy said politely, “Please, kind man, will you give 
me that furze to build me a house?” 

The man agreed, and piggy set to work to build himself a snug 
little house before the night came on. It was scarcely finished when 
the wolf came along, and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” 

“No, no, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” answered the little 
Pig* 

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” said 
the wolf. So he huffed and he puffed, and puffed, and he huffed, 
and at last he blew the house in, and gobbled the little pig up in a 
trice. 

Now, the third little pig met a man with a load of bricks and 
mortar, and he said, “Please, man, will you give me those bricks to 
build a house with?” 

So the man gave him the bricks and mortar, and a little trowel 
as well, and the little pig built himself a nice strong little house. As 
soon as it was finished the wolf came to call, just as he had done to 
the other little pigs, and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” 

But the little pig answered, “No, no, by the hair of my chinny- 
chin-chin.” 

“Then,” said the wolf, “I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your 
house in.” 

Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, 
and he huffed and he puffed; but he could not get the house down. 
At last he had no breath left to huff and puff with, so he sat down 
outside the little pig’s house and thought for awhile. 




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Presently he called out, “Little pig, 
I know where there is a nice field of 
turnips.’ 

“Where?” said the little pig. 
“Behind the farmer’s house, three 
fields away, and if you will be ready 
to-morrow morning I will call for you, 
and we will go together and get some 
breakfast.” 

“Very well,” said the little pig; “I will be sure to be ready. What 
time do you mean to start?” “At six o’clock,” replied the wolf. 

Well, the wise little pig got up at five, scampered away to the 
field, and brought home a fine load of turnips before the wolf came. 
At six o’clock the wolf came to the little pig’s house and said, “Little 
pig, are you ready?” 

“Ready!” cried the little pig. “Why, I have been to the field and 
come back long ago, and now I am busy boiling a potful of turnips 
for breakfast.” 

The wolf was very angry indeed; but he made up his mind to 
catch the little pig somehow or other; so he told him that he knew 
where there was a nice apple-tree. 
























































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“Where?” said the little pig. 

“Round the hill in the squire’s orchard,” the wolf said. “So if 
you will promise to play me no tricks, I will come for you to-morrow 
morning at five o’clock, and we will go together and get some rosy- 
cheeked apples.” 

The next morning piggy got up at four o’clock, and was off and 
away long before the wolf came. 

But the orchard was a long way off, and besides, he had the tree 
to climb, which is a difficult matter for a little pig, so that before 
the sack he had brought with him was quite filled he saw the wolf 
coming toward him. 

He was dreadfully frightened, but he thought it better to put a 
good face on the matter, so when the wolf said, “Little pig, why are 
you here before me? Are they nice apples?” he replied at once, 
“Yes, very; I will throw down one for you to taste.” So he picked 
an apple and threw it so far that whilst the wolf was running to fetch 
it he had time to jump down and scamper away home. 

The next day the wolf came again, and told the little pig that 
there was going to be a fair in the town that afternoon, and asked him 
if he would go with him. 

























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“Oh! yes,” said the pig, “I will go with pleasure. What time 
will you be ready to start?” 

“At half-past three,” said the wolf. 

Of course, the little pig started long before the time, went to the 
fair and bought a fine large butter-churn, and was trotting away with 
it on his back when he saw the wolf coming. 

He did not know what to do, so he crept into the churn to hide, 
and by so doing started it rolling. 

Down the hill it went, rolling over and over, with the little pig 
squeaking inside. 

The wolf could not think what the strange thing rolling down 
the hill could be; so he turned tail and ran away home in a fright 
without ever going to the fair at all. He went to the little pig’s 
house to tell him how frightened he had been by a large round thing 
which came rolling past him down the hill. 

“Ha! ha!” laughed the little pig; “so I frightened you, eh? I had 
been to the fair and bought a butter churn; when I saw you I got 
inside and rolled down the hill.” 

This made the wolf so angry that he declared that he would eat 
up the little pig, and that nothing could save him, for he would jump 
down the chimney. 

But the clever little pig hung a pot full of water over the hearth 
and then made a blazing fire, and just as the wolf was coming down 
the chimney he took off the cover and in fell the wolf. In a second 
the little pig had popped the lid on again. 

Then he boiled the wolf and ate him for supper, and after that 
he lived quietly and comfortably all his days, and was never troubled 
by a wolf again. 


























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The Folly o f Tanic 

/^\NCE upon a time there was a great Lion who tried to help his 
fellow animals. He soon found there was a great deal to be 
done. For instance, there was a little nervous Hare who was always 
afraid that something dreadful was going to happen to her. She 
was always saying, “Suppose the Earth were to fall in, what would 
happen to me?” And she said this so often that at last she thought 
it really was about to happen. One day, when she had been saying 
over and over again, “Suppose the Earth were to fall in, what 
would happen to me?” she heard a slight noise: it really was only 
a heavy fruit which had fallen upon a rustling leaf, but the little 
Hare was so nervous she was ready to believe anything, and she 
said in a frightened tone, “The Earth is falling in!” She ran away 
as fast as she could go, and presently she met an old brother Hare, 
who said, “Where are you running to, Mistress Hare?” 

And the little Hare said, “I have no time to stop and tell you 
anything. The Earth is falling in, and I am running away.” 

“The Earth is falling in, is it?” said the old brother Hare, in a 
tone of much astonishment; and he repeated this to his brother Hare, 
and he to his brother Hare, and he to his brother Hare, until at last 
there were a hundred thousand brother Hares, all shouting, “The 
Earth is falling in!” Now, presently, the bigger animals began to 
take the cry up. First the Deer, and then the Sheep, and then the 
Wild Boar, and then the Buffalo, and then the Camel, and then 
the Tiger, and then the Elephant. 

Now the wise Lion heard all this noise and wondered at it. 
“There are no signs,” he said, “of the Earth falling in. They must 





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have heard something.” And then he stopped them all short and 
said, “What is this you are saying?” 

And the Elephant said, “I remarked that the Earth was fal- 
ing in.” 

“How do you know this?” asked the Lion. 

“Why, now I come to think of it, it was the Tiger that remarked 
it to me.” 

And the Tiger said, “I had it from the Camel.” And the Camel 
said, “I had it from the Buffalo.” And the Buffalo from the Wild 
Boar, and the Wild Boar from the Sheep, and the Sheep from the 
Deer, and the Deer from the Hares, and the Hares said, “Oh! 
we heard it from that little Hare.” 

And the Lion said, “Little Hare, what made you say that the 
Earth was falling in?” 

And the little Hare said, “I saw it.” 

“You saw it?” said the Lion; “Where?” 

“Yonder, by that tree.” 

“Well,” said the Lion, “come with me and I will show you 
how—” 

“No, no,” said the Hare, “I would not go near that tree for 

anything, I’m so nervous.” 

“But,” said the Lion, “I am 
going to take you on my back.” 
And he took her on his back, and 
begged the animals to stay where 
they were until they returned. 
Then he showed the little Hare 
how the fruit had fallen upon the 
leaf, making the noise that had 
frightened her, and she said, 
“Yes, I see—the Earth is not fall¬ 
ing in.” And the Lion said, “Shall 
we go back and tell the other ani- 











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mals?” And they went back. The little Hare stood before the 
animals and said, “The Earth is not falling in.” And all the ani¬ 
mals began to repeat this to one another, and they dispersed gradu¬ 
ally, and you heard the words more and more softly: 

“The Earth is not falling in,” etc., etc., etc., until the sound died 
away altogether. —Marie Shedlock. 























































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The Crow and the Titcher 

'T'HERE was once a good old black Crow, and he was very, very 
thirsty. He looked and looked for water, but all he could find 
was a little bit at the bottom of a deep pitcher. The Crow put his 
beak into the pitcher and tried very hard to reach the water, but 
there was so little left that, try as he would, he could not get it. 

He turned and was about to go sorrowfully away when an idea 
came to him. He went back, picked up a pebble and dropped it in 
the pitcher, then he took another pebble and dropped that into the 
pitcher. Then he looked down in to see what had happened to the 
water. The pebbles had made the water rise just a little way. He 
would have to work hard to get pebbles enough to bring the water 
up to a place where he could reach it. At first he thought he would 
give up trying and fly away. Then he said to himself: 

“No, though I seem to find so little change each time I drop in 
a pebble, if I keep right at my work, and keep at it, and keep at it, 
at last I shall get my drink.” 

So he went back patiently to work and dropped in another pebble 
and another and another. Little by little he saw the water rise. At 
last, it came up where he could reach it. Then he put in his beak 
and was able to take the drink of which he was so much in need. 

— Aesop. 











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The Fox and the Stork 

A T one time the Fox and the Stork were very good friends, and 
used to visit each other. So the Fox invited the Stork one day 
to dinner. But, when they were ready to eat, Mr. Fox thought to 
play a joke on Miss Stork. He put before her nothing at all except 
some soup in a very shallow dish. This the Fox could easily lap up 
with his tongue, but the Stork could only wet the tip-end of her long 
bill in it. So she could get nothing to eat, and left the meal as hun¬ 
gry as when she began. 

“I am sorry,” said the Fox, chuckling to himself, “that you do 
not like the soup.” 

“Oh, pray do not say anything about it,” said the Stork. “I hope 
you will return this visit and come soon to eat dinner with me.” 

So a day was set when the Fox should visit the Stork. But when 
they were seated at table, all that the Stork had made ready for 
dinner was held in a very slim, long-necked jar, with a narrow mouth. 

Down into this the Stork could easily reach her slender bill, but 
the Fox could not get his thick snout into it. So all he could manage 
to do was to lick the outside of the jar. 

“I will not say I am sorry you have eaten so little,” said the Stork, 
“for as you treat others, so must you expect others to treat you.” 

— Aesop. 











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The J£ion and the zJtftouse 

/^\NE day a big Lion lay asleep in the jungle. A little Mouse came 
w scampering through the trees and ran over the Lion’s paw. The 
Lion awakened with a roar, and held the little Mouse fast. 

“I am going to eat you,” he growled. 

“Oh, Mr. Lion, do not eat me,” said the little Mouse. “Some 
day I might be able to help you.” 

“Help me, indeed!” roared the Lion. “It is not likely that a 
small creature like you could be of any use to the king of the jungle.” 

“It is not likely,” said the small Mouse; “still it might happen, 
and if you will let me go now, I will remember it always and be 
ready to help you if I can.” 

This amused the old Lion, so he let the little Mouse go. 

Months passed by, and one day this great yellow king of the 
















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97 


jungle found himself caught in a trap that had been set by the hunters. 
He roared and pulled this way and that, but in spite of all his great 
strength the Lion could not free himself, and he lay there roaring 
with anger and pain. 

A long way off in the jungle the little Mouse heard the thunder 
of his cries, and she said to herself, “That sounds like my friend, the 
Lion.” She hurried as fast as she could through the jungle towards 
the sound, and, presently, she came to the old Lion, bound fast in 
the ropes of the hunters’ trap. 

“What is the matter?” said she. “Why don’t you get out of those 
ropes?” 

“Because I cannot do it,” answered the Lion. 

“Perhaps I can help you,” said the small Mouse. 

“What nonsense! How can a tiny creature like you get me out 
of these great ropes which I cannot break with all my strength?” 

“There are more ways than one of doing a thing,” said the Mouse, 
and with that, she set to work gnawing the ropes with her little sharp 
teeth. She worked patiently at rope after rope, gnawing them until 
they fell apart. Presently the great Lion, the king of the jungle, 
found himself free from the hunters’ trap because of the help of his 

small friend, the Mouse. -Adapted by May Hill. 

From Aesop . 



















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‘Belling the Qat 

ONG ago the Mice all came together to talk over what they could 
do to keep themselves safe from the Cat. They sat around in a 
great circle under an old wash tub, with a candle for light, and 
wiggled their whiskers, and blinked their eyes, and looked very wise 
ihdeed. Some said, “Let us do this,” and others said, “Let us do 
that,” but at last a young Mouse got up, proudly swished his tail, 
and looked about as though to say he knew more than all the rest of 
them put together. 

“I have thought of something,” said he, “that will be sure to keep 
us safe from the Cat.” 

“Tell us what it is, then,” squeaked the other Mice. 

“You all know,” said the young Mouse, “it is because Pussy 
creeps up on us so very quietly, that she is right upon us before we 
see her. If we could only plan something which would let us know 
when she is coming, then we should always have plenty of time to 
scamper out of her way. Now I say, let us get a small bell and tie it 
by a ribbon around her neck. Then she will not be able to move at 
all without jingling the bell. So when we hear the bell tinkle, we 
shall always know that she is about and can easily keep out of her 
reach.” 

As the young Mouse sat down, very proud of himself, all the 
others clapped their paws and squeaked: 






Animal Stories 


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“Just the thing! Just the thing! Big-Whiskers has told us what 
we should do!” 

They even began talking about whether they should get a silver 
bell or a brass one, and whether they should use a blue ribbon or a 
pink one. But at last an old Mouse got slowly up from his seat and 
said: 

“It is all very well what Big-Whiskers has said. What he has 
thought of would truly be wise, but WHO IS GOING TO PUT 
THE BELL ON THE CAT?” 

The Mice looked at one another; nobody spoke a word. Who 
indeed would dare go straight up to Pussy and tie the bell about her 
neck? The old Mouse looked straight at Big-Whiskers, but Big- 
Whiskers was proud no more. He made himself as small as he 
could, for he had never, never thought to do such a thing himself. 
Then the old Mouse said: 

“It is all very well to TALK about doing great things, but all 
that really counts is to DO them.” 

—Adapted from Aesop. 











































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The Hare and the Tortoise 


Adapted from Aesop 


A HARE once said boastfully that he could run faster than any of 
^ the other animals. 

“I have never yet been beaten,” said he, “and I never shall be. I 
dare anyone here to run a race with me.” 

“The Tortoise answered quietly, “I will run a race with you.” 

“You!” laughed the Hare, “Hah! Hah! Hah! That is a good 
joke. A Turtle run a race with a Hare! Why, I could dance around 
such a slow-poke as you all the way, and still reach the goal first.” 

“Keep such big talk until you’ve truly won the race,” said the 
Tortoise. 

But the Hare continued to laugh: “Ho! Ho! Ho! Hah! Hah! 
Hah! A turtle run a race with a Hare. Everybody come and see! 
The Turtle would run a race with the Hare.” 

All the little Forest Folk heard and came up to see the fun. 







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“Well, well, well,” said a Raccoon to a Woodchuck. “Think of 
it! Friend Turtle, whose legs are so short he can hardly crawl, will 
run a race with the Hare! Why, the Hare’s hind legs are so long he 
can go at one leap as far as Friend Turtle can creep in fifty slow 
steps!” So the Raccoon laughed, and the Woodchuck laughed, and 
all the little Forest Folk laughed. But the Tortoise still stuck to it 
that he would run the race. 

So they decided on a starting place, and on the road they should 
run to the goal. Then they put their toes to the line and made ready. 
“One, two, three, go!” shouted the Raccoon. They were off! 

The Hare darted almost out of sight at once, but when he had 
gone half way, he stopped. Just to show how certain he was of reach¬ 
ing the goal ahead of the Tortoise, he lay down in the middle of the 
road and went to sleep. He slept, and he slept, and he slept, but the 
Tortoise plodded on, and plodded on, and plodded on. 

At last, when the Hare awoke from his nap, lo and behold! he 
saw the Tortoise had gone all the way round the race course and was 
back again near the winning-post. Then, though he ran as fast as he 
could to make up for lost time, he could not reach the goal until 
after the Tortoise. 

“Three cheers for Friend Turtle! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” 
shouted all the little Forest People. But the Tortoise said quietly to 
the Hare: 

“He who keeps steadily at work, always comes out ahead.” 








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The Fox and His Travels 

F\NE day an old fox was digging behind a 
hollow three, and he found a bumble¬ 
bee. He put the bumble-bee in his bag, put 
the bag over his shoulder, and travelled. 
Presently, he came to a farm house. He 
knocked at the door. 

“Good-day,” said the woman of the house. 

“Good-day,” said the Old Fox. “May I leave my bag here 
while I go over to Squintun’s?” 

“Yes,” said the woman, “I suppose you may.” 

“Very well,” said the Fox, “but mind you, don’t look in my bag.” 
Oh, no, she would not think of doing that. So the Fox went away. 
No sooner was the Fox out of sight than the woman of the house 
began to look at the bag. 

“I wonder what that Fox has in his bag, that he is so particular 
about,” she said. “Surely, it will not hurt if I take just one little 
look.” So she untied the mouth of the bag, and out flew the bumble¬ 
bee, and the woman’s rooster happened along at just that moment, 
and he gobbled up the bumble-bee in one gulp. 

After a while, the Fox returned. He lifted up his bag, and felt 
that it was empty. 

“Where is my bumble-bee,” he asked the woman. 

“Oh, I just opened your bag to take one little look, and the 
bumble-bee flew out and my rooster ate him up.” 

“Very well,” said the Fox, “then I must have your rooster.” He 
put the woman’s rooster in his bag, put the bag over his shoulder, 
and travelled. 

Presently, he came to another farm house. He knocked at the 
door. 

“Good-day,” said the Fox to the woman of the house. 

“Good-day,” said the woman. 








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“May I leave my bag here while I go to Squintun’s?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose you may,” answered the mistress of the house. 

“Very well,” said the Fox, “but mind you, don’t look in my bag.” 

“Of course not; I would not think of doing such a thing,” and 
the Fox went away. 

No sooner had he gone than the woman began to walk around 
the bag and wonder about what that thing was that the Fox had in 
his bag. She said to herself, “Surely, it would not hurt if I took 
one little look.” So she untied the mouth of the bag very carefully, 
but the old rooster flew out. Just then the woman’s pig came along 
and ate up the rooster. Presently, the Fox returned. He lifted up 
his bag and felt that it was empty. 

“Where is my rooster?” he asked. 

“Oh, I just opened your bag to take one little look, and the 
rooster flew out, and my pig ate him up.” 

“Very well,” said the Fox. “Then I must have your pig,” and 
he put the woman’s pig in his bag, put the bag over his shoulder, 
and travelled. 

Presently he came to another farm house. He knocked at the 
door. 

“Good-day,” said the Fox to the woman of the house. 

“Good-day,” answered the good wife. 

“May I leave my bag here while I go over to Squintun’s?” 

“Yes, that you may,” said the woman. 

“Very well,” said the Fox; “but mind you do not look in my bag.” 

“Of course not,” answered the woman, crossly; and the Fox 

went away. 

No sooner had he gone than the woman began to look at the bag, 
and she touched it here, and she poked it there, and finally she said 
to herself, “There is something large and fat in that bag, and surely 
it will not hurt if I take a look.” So she untied the mouth of the 

bag, and out came the big fat pig. 

Just then, along came the woman’s little boy, and he chased the 



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pig with a stick over the country and across the hills, and out of 
sight. By the time he got home the Fox had returned. The Fox 
lifted the bag and found it was empty, and said: 

“Where is my pig?” 

“Alas, and alack,” answered the woman. “I just opened your 
bag to take a look and the pig ran out and my little boy chased him 
across the country and the hills and he became out of sight.” 

“Very well,” said the Fox. “Then I must have your little boy.” 
So he put the woman’s little boy in the bag, put the bag over his 
shoulder, and travelled. 

Presently, he came to another farm house. 

“Good-day,” said the woman of the house. 

“Good-day,” said the Fox. “May I leave my bag here while I 
go over to Squintun’s?” 

“I am very busy, but I suppose you may,” said the woman. 

“Very well,” said the Fox, “but mind you do not look in my bag.” 

“I should think not; I am far too busy for that,” answered the 
woman, and the Fox went away. 

Now, this woman was baking cake, and when she took it out 

















































Animal Stories 


105 



of the oven, all her children gathered around her, saying, “Oh, 
please, mammy, give us a bit of cake!” And when the smell of that 
hot cake came to the little boy in the bag, he sat up and called out: 

“Oh, please, mammy, give me a bit of cake, too?” 

Now you may well believe that the woman was surprised to 
hear a little boy talking from inside of that bag. She made haste 
to open the bag and take out the little boy, and she gave him some 
hot cake with her children. He was eating his cake when they saw 
the old Fox returning. The woman of the house took her big 
watch dog and put him in the bag, and tied it up. The Fox picked 
up the bag, felt that it was heavy, put it over his shoulder, and 
travelled. As he was going down the road, he said to himself, “I 
have been travelling all this long day with never a bite to eat. I 
believe I will just step over into the woods and try how this little 
boy tastes.” Of course, he did not know that the little boy was 
safe at home, having cake with the woman’s children. But the old 
Fox went over to the woods, opened the bag, and out jumped the 
watch-dog and ate up the Fox at one gulp, and that was the end 

of the Fox and his travels. From Oak Tree Fairy Book: Little, Brown & Company. 





















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The Alligator and the Jackal 

A HUNGRY Jackal once went down to the river-side in search of 
little crabs, for he was very fond of sea food. Now, it chanced 
that in this river there lived a big Alligator, who, being also very 
hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal. 

The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long 
time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator 
was lying, among some tall bulrushes under the clear, shallow water, 
he saw a little crab. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw 
this, he poked his paw into the water to try and catch the crab, when, 
snap! the old Alligator caught hold of him. 

“Oh, dear!” thought the Jackal to himself, “what can I do? This 
big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another min¬ 
ute he will drag me under the water and kill me. My only chance 
is to make him think he has made a mistake.” So he called out in 
a cheerful voice, “Oh, clever Mr. Alligator, kind, clever Mr. Alli¬ 
gator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope 
you find it very tender.” 

The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he 
could hardly see, thought, on hearing this, “Dear me, what a stupid 
mistake! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal’s paw; but there 
he is, talking away as usual. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush 
root instead, as he says.” And he let the Jackal go. 

The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying, “Oh, wise Mr. 
Alligator, clever Mr. Alligator! So you very kindly let me go!” 
Then the Alligator was vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far 
to be caught. 

Next day the Jackal was hungry for crabs, as usual; so he rc- 









Animal Stories 


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turned to the river to get his dinner, as before; but because he was 
very much afraid of the Alligator, he called out: 

“Whenever I look for my dinner in the river, I see the nice little 
crabs peeping up through the mud, then I catch them and eat them. 
I wish I could see one now.” 

The Alligator was buried in mud at the bottom of the river, but 
he heard every word. So he popped the little point of his tail above 
the water thinking, “If I do but just show the tip of my tail the 
Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and 
as soon as ever he does I’ll gobble him up.” 

But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator’s 
tail than he called out, “Aha, my friend, there you are! No dinner 
for me in this part of the river!” And so saying, he ran farther on, 
and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. 

The Alligator was very angry at being fooled a second time, and 
determined not to let the little Jackal escape again. So, on the fol¬ 
lowing day, when his little tormentor returned to the water-side, the 
Alligator hid himself close to the bank. Now the Jackal was rather 
afraid of going near the river, for he thought, “Perhaps the Alli¬ 
gator will catch me to-day.” But yet, being hungry, he did not wish 
to go without his dinner; so to make all as safe as he could, he cried, 
“Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here, and I 
am so hungry. Generally, even when they are under water, one 
can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles 
go pop! pop! pop!” 

On hearing this, the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under 
the river-bank thought, “I will pretend to be a little crab.” And he 
began to blow, “Puff, puff, putf. Bubble, bubble, bubble!” and all 
the great bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, 
and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool; and there 
was such a commotion that the Jackal saw very well who must be 
there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying, “Thank you; thank 
you, kind Mr. Alligator, dear Mr. Alligator. Thank you; thank 
you for showing me where you are. Indeed, I would not have come 



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here had I known you were so close!” said the little Jackal with 
much glee. 

This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross 
to think of being fooled so often by the little Jackal, and he said to 
himself, “I will not be taken in again. Next time I will be very 
cunning.” So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal 
to return to the river-side; but the Jackal did not come, for he had 
thought to himself, “If matters go on in this way, I shall some day 
be caught and eaten by the old Alligator. I had better content my¬ 
self with living on wild figs.” And he went no more to the river 
for crabs, but stayed in the jungle and ate wild figs. 

After a while the Alligator found this out, and he determined 
to catch the little Jackal on land. So he went to the largest of the 
wild fig-trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, 
and collecting a quantity of them he buried himself under the great 
heap, and waited for the Jackal to appear. 

No sooner did the Jackal see this great pile of wild figs than he 
thought, “That looks very like my friend, the Alligator.” And to 
discover if it was or not he called out: 

“The juicy little figs I love to eat always tumble down from the 
tree and roll here and there as the wind drives them; but this great 
heap of figs is so still, they cannot be good figs. I will not eat any 
of them.” 

“Ho, ho!” thought the Alligator, “So this is the way of it! How 
susicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little, then, 
and he will doubtless come and eat them.” 

So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs 
went rolling this way and that, further than they had ever rolled 
before; and, of course, the Jackal soon caught sight of the Alligator’s 
back, showing through the pile of figs. 

Seeing this, the Jackal scampered away, saying, “I am so much 
obliged to you, smart Mr. Alligator, for letting me know you are 
there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so 
buried under the heap of figs. Now, good-bye to you for to-day.” 



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The Alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the 
Jackal, but the little Jackal ran very fast, too quickly to be caught 
Then the Alligator said to himself, “I will not allow that little 
wretch to make fool of me another time; I will show him that I can 
be more cunning than he fancies.” 

Early the next morning the Alligator crawled as fast as he could 
to the Jackal’s den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept 
into it, and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal to return home. But 
when the Jackal got near the place he looked about him and thought: 
“Dear me, this place looks as if some heavy creature had been 




















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walking over it.” So he went no nearer, but looked carefully about, 
and he saw great clods of earth knocked down from each side of his 
door, as if a very large beast had tried to squeeze himself through it. 

“I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there,” 
said the Jackal; and he called out, “Little house, sweet, pretty house, 
why do you not give an answer when I call? When I come home 
and all is safe, you always call to me. Is anything wrong, that you 
do not speak?” 

Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought, “If that is the 
case, I had better call out, that he may fancy all is right in his 
house.” So he spoke, in as gentle a tone as he could, but it was a 
hoarse, loud voice, “Sweet little Jackal, come in at once. All is 
well!” 

At hearing those words, the Jackal felt quite frightened, and 
thought to himself, “So the old Alligator is there! I must try to get 
rid of him if I can, for if I do not, he will certainly catch me some 
day!” He therefore answered, “Thank you, pretty little house. I 
like to hear your gentle voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first 
I must collect firewood to cook my dinner.” 

Then he ran as fast as he could, and dragged all the dry branches 
and bits of stick he could find close to the mouth of his den. Mean¬ 
time the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not 
help laughing a little to himself, as he thought, “So I have deceived 
that silly little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, 
and then won’t I snap him up!” 

When the Jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could 
find and put them around the mouth of his den, he lighted them, 
and soon he had a roaring fire. The smoke and flames filled the 
den and smothered the wicked old Alligator. When there was noth¬ 
ing left of him but smoked herring, the little Jackal ran up and 
down outside, dancing for joy and singing: 

“How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? 
Clever Mr. Alligator, wise Mr. Alligator, you will trouble me no 
more!” ADAPTED FROM Old Deccan Days. 



Animal Stories 


111 


The Town ThCouse and the Qountry <ThCou.se 

T WO little Mice, who had lived together and played very happily 

when they were children, became separated as they grew up. One 
of them moved into a fine house in the city, while the other remained 
near her old home in the country. 

They never quite forgot each other, and one day the Town Mouse 
rambled out into the country and called on her old friend. Natu¬ 
rally, the Country Mouse was delighted at the visit, and she gathered 
the best of everything she could find for a luncheon. 

There were some fine peas, choice bacon and a little piece of 
rare old Stilton cheese, all of which seemed very sweet and tooth¬ 
some to the affectionate hostess when she called the other heartily to 
come and take part in the good cheer. 

From living so long among the rich delicacies of the city the 
traveled Mouse had lost her early appetite, and though she nibbled 
daintily here and there, hoping to please her old friend, yet she 
never ceased to wonder in her heart how the Country Mouse could 
take any pleasure in such coarse and ordinary fare. 

After dinner, when they sat down to chat over old times, the 
Town Mouse could hold her tongue no longer. 

“Really, my dear old friend, I don’t see how you possibly can 
keep so cheerful in such a dismal, dead-and-alive kind of place as 
this in which you live! Why, I couldn’t possibly live here a week! 
There is no kind of life; there’s no society; there’s nothing gay or 
jolly anywhere to be found. 

“You go on from one year’s end to another, every day just like 
the one before it and just like the one that follows it. What you 
want to do is to come back to the city with me. Come to-night and 
see what a gay and happy life I lead.” 

The airs and address of the Town Mouse had made the Country 
Mouse a little discontented, so as soon as it came dark, the two 
started off for the city, where they quickly found the home of the 





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Town Mouse, in which, as it happened, a splendid supper had been 
given and from which the guests had barely departed for home. 

It was no trouble at all for the Town Mouse to gather up the 
whole heap of dainties, which she placed on one corner of the hand¬ 
some red Turkey carpet. The plain little Country Mouse was daz¬ 
zled by so much splendor; she had never seen such a table as was 
now before her. There was not half of the meats that she could tell 
the names of, and not knowing what they were or how they tasted, 
she sat there wondering where to begin. 

Suddenly a door behind them creaked and opened, and the serv¬ 
ant came in with a light. The two Mice ran hastily into a corner and 
hid themselves behind a hassock till everything was quiet again, 
when they returned to their meal. 

The first mouthful had not been swallowed when the door opened 
suddenly again and in dashed a boy, the son of the master of the 
house — a noisy, rollicking boy, followed by a fierce little Terrier, 
that ran straight to the spot where the two friends had just been 
sitting. 

Such a thing was really no great surprise to the Town Mouse, 
who had learned to run to her hole very quickly on the slightest 
alarm. She did not realize, however, that the Country Mouse knew 
nothing about this, and so had not told her where to go. The only 
place the latter could find was back of a big sofa, and there she 
waited in awful fear while the Terrier barked and tore around the 
room, enraged at the scent of the Mice. 

After a while, however, the boy skipped out again, the Terrier 
followed, and the room became quiet. The Town Mouse was out 
in an instant and ran quickly to the dainties, which still lay undis¬ 
turbed on the floor, for the dog had eaten his supper before he 
came in. 

“Come, come,” said the Town Mouse, “come out; the table is 
all spread, and everything is getting cold! We shan’t be disturbed 
again, or if we are we can run and hide. Come, now; let’s eat and 
be happy!” 



Animal Stories 


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“No, no, not for me!” said the Country Mouse. “I shall be off 
as fast as I can. There is too much excitement in this life for me. 
I’d rather have a crust out there in the country, with peace and 
quietness, than all the fine things you have here in the midst of such 
frights and terrors as I’ve had in the last hour.” 

What are you? Are you a town mouse or a country mouse? Do 
you live in the country, where you can see the beautiful blue sky 
with the white clouds sailing through it, where you can play on the 
rich green grass and smell the sweet flowers all about you? Or do 
you live in the dusty, smoky city, with big buildings all around you, 
where the trees are stunted and the leaves look brown and withered? 
When you go to school in the morning, do you walk along a neat 
path in the roadside, among fields rich with growing grain, where 
you can breathe the pure air and romp in the sunshine? Or do you 
go to school along hot and dusty pavements, where every time you 
cross a street you must look sharp and run hard or be caught by an 
automobile or a street car? 

Sometimes the human mice who live in the country when they 
are children move into the great city and grow old there. They 
learn to live in the excitement and to like it, but occasionally when 
they sit at home in the evening they wish they were in the country 
once more, where the evening breezes would bring them the scent 
of the apple blossoms, and where at daybreak the birds would waken 
them from their quiet, peaceful slumber. 



































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The Qamel and The Tig 

A CAMEL said, “Nothing like 
being tall! See how tall I 
am.” A Pig who heard these 
words said, “Nothing like being 
short; see how short I am!” 

The Camel said, “Well, if I 
fail to prove the truth of what I 
said, I will give you my hump.” 

The Pig said, “If I fail to 
prove the truth of what I have 
said, I will give up my snout.” 
“Agreed!” said the Camel. 
“Just so!” said the Pig. 

They came to a garden in¬ 
closed by a low wall without any 
opening. The Camel stood on this 
side the wall, and reaching the plants within by means of his long 
neck, made a breakfast on them. Then he turned jeeringly to the 
Pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall, without even 
having a look at the good things in the garden, and said, “Now, 
would you be tall or short?” 

Next they came to a garden enclosed by a high wall, with a wicket 
gate at one end. The Pig entered by the gate, and, after having eaten 
his fill of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor 
Camel, who had had to stay outside because he was too tall to enter 
the garden by the gate, and said, “Now, would you be tall or short?” 

Then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion 
that the Camel should keep his hump and the Pig his snout, observ¬ 
ing: 

“Tall is good, where tall would do; 

Of short, again, ’t is also true!” 















Animal Stories 


115 


H Horse's Story 

H ERE is a story told by Black Beauty, as pretty a little horse as 
ever wore a white star on his forehead: 

One day late in the autumn my master had a long journey to go 
on business. I was put to the dog-cart, and John, the coachman, 
drove. There had been a great deal of rain, and now the wind was 
very high, and it blew the dry leaves across the road in a shower. 
We went along merrily till we came to the toll-bar and the low 
wooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, 
instead of rising, went across just level, so that in the middle, if the 
river was full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and 
planks. But as there were good, substantial rails on each side, 
people did not mind it. 

The man at the gate said the river was rising fast, and he feared 
it would be a bad night. Many of the meadows were under water, 
and in one low part of the road the water was halfway up to my 
knees. The bottom was good, however, and master drove gently, 
so it was no matter. 

When we got to the town I had, of course, a good feed, but as the 
master’s business engaged him a long time, we did not start for home 
until rather late in the afternoon. The wind was then much higher, 
and I heard the master say to John we had never been out in such a 
storm. And so I thought, as we went along the skirts of a wood, 
where the great branches were swaying about like twigs, and the 
rushing sound was terrible. 

“I wish we were well out of this wood,” said my master. 

“Yes, sir,” said John; “it would be rather awkward if one of 
these branches came down on us.” 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a 
groan, and a crack, and a splitting sound; and crashing down among 
the older trees came an oak, torn up by the roots. It fell across the 
road just before us. I will never say I was not frightened, for I was. 



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I stopped still, and I believe I trembled. Of course I did not turn 
round or run away; I was not brought up to that. John jumped 
out, and in a moment was at my head. 

“That came very near,” said my master. “What’s to be done 
now?” 

“Well, sir, we can’t drive over that tree, nor yet get round it. 
There’s nothing for us but to go back to the four crossways, and that 
will be a good six miles before we get round to the wooden bridge 
again. It will make us late, but the horse is fresh.” 

So back we went and round by the crossroads. By the time we 
got to the bridge it was very nearly dark. We could just see that 
the water was over the middle of it. As this sometimes happened 
when there were floods, master did not stop. We were going along 
at a good pace, but the moment my feet touched the first part of the 
bridge I felt sure there was something wrong. I dared not go for¬ 
ward, and I made a dead stop. “Go on, Beauty,” said my master, 
and he gave me a touch with the whip, but I dared not stir. He gave 
me a sharp cut. I jumped, but I dared not go forward. 

“There’s something wrong, sir,” said John, and he sprang out of 
the dog-cart, and came to my head and looked all about. He tried 
to lead me forward. “Come on, Beauty; what’s the matter?” Of 
course, I could not tell him, but I knew very well that the bridge 
was not safe. 

Just then the man at the toll-gate on the other side ran out of the 
house, tossing a torch about violently. 

“Hoy, hoy, hoy! Halloo! stop!” he cried. 

“What’s the matter?” shouted the master. 

“The bridge is broken in the middle, and part of it is carried 
away; if you come on you’ll be in the river.” 

“Thank God!” said my master. “You Beauty!” said John, and 
took the bridle and gently turned me round to the right-hand road 
by the river side. The sun had set some time. The wind seemed 
to have lulled ofif after that furious blast which tore up the tree. 
It grew darker and darker, stiller and stiller. I trotted quietly 



Animal Stories 


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along, the wheels hardly making a sound on the soft road. For a 
good while neither master nor John spoke, and then master began in 
a serious voice. I could not understand much of what they said, 
but I found they thought that if I had gone on as the master wanted 
me, horse, chaise, master and man would have fallen into the river. 
Master said God had given men reason, by which they could find out 
things for themselves; but he had given animals instinct, which did 
not depend on reason, and which was much more prompt and per¬ 
fect in its way, and by which they had often saved the lives of men. 

At last we came to the park gates, and found the gardener looking 
out for us. He said that mistress had been much alarmed ever since 
dark, fearing some accident had happened, and that she had sent 
James off on Justice, the roan cob, towards the wooden bridge to 
make inquiry after us. 

We saw a light at the hall door and at the upper windows, and 
as we came up, mistress ran out, saying to master, “Are you really 
safe, my dear? Oh! I have been so anxious, fancying all sorts of 
things. Have you had no accident?” 

“No, but if your Black Beauty had not been wiser than we were, 
we should all have been carried down the river at the wooden 
bridge.” I heard no more, as they went into the house, and John 
took me to the stable. Oh, what a good supper he gave me that 
night, a good bran mash and some crushed beans with my oats, and 
such a thick bed of straw! and I was glad of it, for I was tired. 

Anna Sewell. 












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Two Heroes of the <•American “Desert 

T OU BECK is a name familiar to all Californians, but it is seldom 

mentioned alone. “Lou Beck and Rufus” are the two names one 
hears together, and these two names stand for a kind of heroism and 
self-sacrifice that make them dear to those who know that western 
country. Lou Beck was the man who mastered the American 
desert, and Rufus was the dog that accompanied him on all of his 
perilous journeys. The history of these two is affectionately retold 
by Californians, and Pasadena is to have a statue commemorating 
their brave exploits. 

Years ago, Lou Beck went to the Klondike in search of gold. He 
did not find it, but while he was in Nome he found something that 
was to prove more precious than gold, although at the time he prob¬ 
ably did not think so. He acquired a puppy, dark reddish brown 
in color, with some of the marks of an Alaskan sled dog, but with 
the intelligent, loving eyes and noble head of a Newfoundland. This 
puppy he named Rufus, and he brought him back with him to Pasa¬ 
dena, California. 

As the puppy grew older and stronger, Beck took him along 
when he went for little journeys of exploration about the country. 
Now there are many beautiful places round Pasadena where these 
two doubtless travelled, but the place that had the greatest fascina¬ 
tion for Lou Beck was the Mohave Desert. Everyone warned him 
of its dangers, so he kept away from it; but later, he admitted that 
no matter where he went, the great desert seemed to call him back, 
and at last he decided to set out and make a thorough study of it. 





















Animal Stories 


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In the winter he gave up his work, and with a pack on his back 
and the dog Rufus for company, he set off from one of the towns on 
the border of the Mohave Desert. This looked to Rufus like the 
beginning of a delightful camping trip; so he leaped and barked in 
high spirits, little knowing what lay ahead for them both. Beck was 
new to the desert then, but its great burning color by day, and its 
vast, lonely brilliance by night laid such a hold upon his spirit that 
he never loved any other country as much. At first, this journey 
was all pleasure and new adventure, both for the man and the dog. 
Then, suddenly, tragedy overtook them. Beck lost his way, and to 
be lost in the desert is probably as horrible an experience as a man 
can live through. For three days these two wandered in the burn¬ 
ing heat with no food and not a drop of water. We are told that 
there is no torture in the world so terrible as the agony of thirst. 
Beck bore his pain in silence, and walked steadily on and on, in a 
blind search for a water hole. The dog Rufus limped painfully by 
his side, his tongue hanging out, his eyes bloodshot, but with never 
a whimper of complaint. Sometimes, Beck would look down at 
him, and pat his head tenderly, and the dog would raise those faith¬ 
ful, loving eyes to Beck’s face as much as to say, “Never mind, we 
are together, and we will find a way out somehow.” 

On the third day neither could utter a sound, and they reeled and 
staggered with dizziness. At last, Beck made a silent prayer for 
help, and in this prayer he promised God that if he ever escaped 
and was permitted to live, he would devote his life to saving others 
from such suffering. 

Suddenly, Rufus exhibited faint signs of excitement and began 
to run off to one side. Beck followed, and saw to his joy a small 
pool of water. But Rufus, who had reached the pool ahead of his 
master, was behaving in a peculiar manner. He would rush up to 
the water and start to drink, and then he would draw back and utter 
a faint howl through his parched, swollen throat. Beck knew by this 
that there was something wrong with the water, but in spite of the 
dog’s unmistakable warning, he threw himself down on the ground 




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by the pool, washed out his mouth, 
and then drank a little of the water. 
Rufus whimpered pitifully and 
pushed his master, trying to say again, 
“It is water, but it is not good; do not 
drink.” The dog was right; the pool 
was poisoned, but at the time Beck 
did not feel the effects of it. The 
liquid gave him fresh strength, and he 
set off with renewed energy. His 
mind was cleared, too, and he found 
the trail that led them both back to safety. 

Once more in the hands of friendly human beings, Beck pointed 
to his dog, made a few efforts to explain for them both, and then 
became violently ill from the poisoned water which he had tasted. 
Master and dog were nursed back to health at last, but while the 
dog recovered completely from his hardships, Beck was never en¬ 
tirely cured of the effects of his poisoning. Nevertheless, he did not 
forget his promise to God, made in his great extremity, and as soon 
as he was able he began a systematic plan for keeping his word. In 
the years that followed, devoted almost wholly to desert travel, Beck 
was never lost again, and had a firm belief that God had appointed 
Rufus and him to do this work of rescue. 

Every winter for twelve years, Beck and Rufus would set off 
for the desert. Beck would first haul his supplies to a convenient 
base of operations, and then he and Rufus would work from that 
center. Rufus now wore little desert shoes, to protect his feet from 
cactus and the burning sands, and when he traveled with his master 
the dog bore his share of the burden, a forty-pound pack, containing 
a water bottle, food and a package of poison antidote for snake 
bite. Together, these two, the man and his devoted dog, explored 
every inch of that terrible desert. They knew Death Valley from 
one end to the other; they located water holes and put up rude signs 
to guide travelers. During these twelve years Beck and Rufus 







Animal Stories 


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rescued scores of men from death in the desert. Rufus, with his 
keen scent, learned to hunt them out, and he would guide his master 
to them, after he had first found them, and let them take from his 
pack the water for want of which they were perishing. Beck said 
that the dog found thirty victims at different times that he himself 
would not have discovered. Often these poor creatures were crazed 
with their sufferings. Sometimes they would be digging in the 
burning sand in a desperate attempt to find water, their poor hands 
worn to the bone. Often they were too far gone to do anything for 
themselves, and when Rufus would find that they had not even the 
strength to help themselves from his pack, he would set off, as fast 
as he could go, to find his master and lead him to the spot where the 
poor creatures had fallen. 


















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While they did this wonderful work of rescue, the man did other 
things which Rufus did not understand so well. Beck made camera 
studies of all the strange life of the desert, the plants, insects and 
animals. Rufus could never quite see why his master would not let 
him chase away these alien animals, but he tried to be patient with 
this one strange vagary of a master who otherwise seemed to him 
the wisest and best of all living beings. These two loved each other 
in a deep, trusting way that needed no words. Beck used to say that 
out in the desert he could hear the voice of God. 

“Just God and me and Rufus!” he often said, and sometimes he 
must have wondered what the dog thought, on those long desert 
nights, when the two of them lay down together, with the brilliant 
stars hanging low in the sky. 

Beck died before his dog, and the animal’s grief was evident to 
all who knew him, but he bore it with the quiet that had marked 
long years of companionship with his beloved master. Beck left 
him as a precious legacy to his best friend. Rufus made no more 
trips into the desert after that, but lived peacefully with his master’s 
friend for three years. Sometimes they would find him sitting very 
straight and rigid, sniffing the air from the desert and staring 
straight ahead of him with a patient bewildered expression on his 
face. He seemed to be asking with those great, gentle eyes of his, 
“When am I to go again to the desert with my master? Surely there 
must be work for us to do!” After three years, Rufus heard the call 
to go, and those who had known Lou Beck and Rufus together, can¬ 
not but feel that somehow those two have found each other again, 
and are traveling together once more. 

Just a man and a dog, and a promise faithfully kept! 

—May Hill. 



Animal Stories 


123 


Oeyvind and zJlfCarit 

'T'HERE was once a boy named Oeyvind 
**■ who lived in a hut at the foot of a 
steep, rocky hill. On the roof of that hut 
walked a little goat. It was Oeyvind’s own. 
Oeyvind kept it there so that it should not 
go astray, and he carried up leaves and 
grass to it. 

But one fine day the goat leaped down, 
and away it went up the hill until it came 
where it never had been before. When Oeyvind ran out of the hut 
after dinner, he missed his little goat and at once thought of the fox. 
He looked all about, calling, “Killy-killy-killy-goat!” 

“Bay-ay-ay,” said the goat, from the top of the hill, as it cocked 
its head on one side and looked down. And at the side of the goat 
kneeled a little girl. 

“Is it yours, this goat?” she asked. 

Oeyvind stared at her, with eyes and mouth wide open, and asked, 
“Who are you?” 

“I am Marit, mother’s little one, father’s fiddle, grandfather’s 
elf, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights.” 

“Are you, though?” he said, as soon as he could get his breath. 

“Is it yours, this goat?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“I should like it. Will you not give it to me?” 

“No, that I won’t.” 

Marit lay down, kicking her legs and looking up at him, and 
then she said, “Not if I give you a butter cake for him?” 

Oeyvind had eaten butter cakes only once in his life, when his 
grandfather came to visit; anything like it he had never eaten before 
nor since. “Let me see the butter cake first,” said he. 

It didn’t take Marit long to pull out a large cake. “Here it is,” 
she said, and threw it down to him. 














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“Ow, it went to pieces,” said the boy. He gathered up every 
crumb, and he couldn’t help tasting a very small one. That was so 
good he had to eat another. Before he knew it he had eaten up the 
whole cake. 

“Now the goat is mine,” said the girl, and she laughed and 
clapped her hands. The boy stopped with the last bit in his mouth. 

“Wait a little while,” he begged, for he loved his little goat. 

The small girl got up quickly. “No, the goat is mine,” she said, 
and she threw her arms around its neck. She loosened one of her 
garters and fastened it round the goat’s neck and began pulling the 
goat after her. The goat would not follow; it stretched its neck 
down to see Oeyvind. “Bay-ay-ay,” it said. But the girl took hold 
of its fleece with one hand and pulled the string with the other, and 
said sweetly, “Come, little goat, you shall go into my room and eat 
out of my apron.” And then she sang, 

“Come, boy’s goat, 

Come, mother’s calf, 

Come, mewing cat 
In snow-white shoes; 

Come, yellow ducks, 

Come out of your hiding place; 

Come, little chickens, 

Who can hardly go; 

Come, my doves 
With soft feathers; 

See, the grass is wet, 

But the sun does you good: 

And early, early, it is in summer, 

But call for the autumn, and it will soon come. 

And away she went with the goat, calling on all living things she 
loved to follow her. 

The boy stood still as a stone. He had taken care of the goat 
since the winter before, and he had never thought he would lose it. 
But now it was gone, in a moment, and he would never see it again. 
He lay down and wept. 

His mother came along and saw him crying. “What are you 
crying about?” she asked. 





Animal Stories 


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T) V 

l 1 t 


“Oh, the goat, the goat!” 

“Yes, where is the goat?” asked the mother, looking up at the 
roof. 

“It will never come back,” said the boy. 

“Why, how could that happen!” 

He could not tell her at once. 

“Has the fox taken it?” 

“No, oh, no.” 





























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“Are your wits gone?” said his mother. “What has become of 
the goat?” 

“Oh-h-h—I sold it for—for—a cake!” 

As soon as he had said it he knew what it was to sell the goat for 
a cake. 

“What can the little goat think of you, to sell him for a cake?” 
said his mother. 

The boy was so sorry that he said to himself he would never again 
do anything wrong. He would never cut the thread on the spinning- 
wheel, -he would never let the goats out of the fold, he would never 
go down to the sea alone. He fell asleep where he lay, and he 
dreamed that the little goat had gone to heaven and that he sat alone 
on the roof and could not go to it. 

Suddenly there came something wet close up to his ear. He 
started up. “Bay-ay-ay!” it said. It was the little goat come back. 

“What, have you come back?” he cried. He jumped up, took 
it by the forelegs, and danced with it as if it were a brother. He 
tickled it and pulled its beard, and set off with it to the hut to tell 
his mother the good news. 

Just then he heard someone behind him; it was the little girl. 

“Oh, so it was you brought it back?” said he. 

“Grandfather would not let me keep it,” said she; “he is waiting 
near for me.” 

A sharp voice called out, “Now!” It was her grandfather’s, and 
she remembered what she was to do. She put out her muddy hands 
into Oeyvind’s and said, “I beg your pardon for taking the little 
goat.” Then she could keep in no longer; she threw her arms 
around the goat’s neck and wept aloud. 

“You may have the goat,” said Oeyvind. 

“Make haste,” cried grandfather. So Marit had to go, and 
Oeyvind had his goat again. 

From “The Happy Boy/' By Bjornstjerne Bjornson 

Translated from the Norwegian. 



Animal Stories 


127 



IVhy the ‘Bear Has a Stumpy Tail 

/ANE winter’s day the Bear met the Fox, who came slinking along 
with a string of fish he had stolen. 

“Hi, stop a minute! Where did you get those from?” demanded 
the Bear. 

“Oh, my Lord Bruin, I’ve been out fishing and caught them,” 
said the Fox. 

So the Bear had a mind to learn to fish, too, and bade the Fox 
tell him how he was to set about it. 

“Oh, it is quite easy,” answered the Fox, “and soon learned. 
You’ve only got to go upon the ice, and cut a hole and stick your 
tail down through it, and hold it there as long as you can. You’re 
not to mind if it smarts a little; that’s when the fish bite. The 
longer you hold it there, the more fish you’ll get; and then all at 
once out with it, with a cross pull sideways and a strong pull, too.” 

Well, the Bear did as the Fox said, and though he felt very cold, 
and his tail smarted very much, he kept it a long, long time down 
in the hole, till at last it was frozen in, though of course he did not 
know that. Then he pulled it out with a strong pull, and it snapped 
short off, and that’s why Bruin goes about with a stumpy tail to 
this day! 



















































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The Ufuts of Jonisgyont 

TISTEN to the Iroquois Grandmother. This is the tale of 
Jonisgyont, the little Squirrel, and how he got wings. 

In the Moon of the Falling Nuts, when the forest flames with 
crimson and gold, and the birds preen their wings to fly to the 
South, Jonisgyont ran chattering up and down the trees gathering 
brown nuts for his winter food. 

Day after day he gathered the nuts, and carried them to a Pine 
Wood, where he hid them in a hollow Pine Tree. And when he 
saw that his storehouse was full, he gave little barks of delight, 
and went leaping from branch to branch. Then he hurried away 
to the nut trees to play and frisk in the fallen leaves. 

Poor little Jonisgyont, when he came back to the Pine Woods, 
he found his storehouse empty, for all his nuts were gone! Up 
and down the tree he ran, stamping his tiny feet and scolding as 
he peeped into every small hole, but he could not find his nuts. Then 
he called to his neighbors, the forest Woodchuck and the green 
Bullfrog. 

The Woodchuck came creeping out of his burrow, at the foot 
of the rock near the Pine, and sat up by his door. And the Frog 
came jumping from the swamp down by the river. 











Animal Stories 


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“Poor Jonisgyont!” cried the Woodchuck, stroking his grizzly 
whiskers. “Who has been stealing all your nuts? Surely he is a 
rascal and should be well punished!” 

“I wonder who has done this!” croaked the Frog, puffing out 
his sides. “He is very cruel to take all your hard-earned food!” 
And tears dropped from the Frog’s bulging eyes. 

But little Jonisgyont listened in silence, for he knew too well 
that they were his only neighbors who liked nuts. 

Now, while the Bullfrog and the Woodchuck were talking, 
and trying with indignant words to comfort Jonisgyont, Nukda- 
go, the Chief of all the Squirrels, passed that way, and heard what 
they said. 

“Something is wrong here” he thought to himself, “and I must 
see that Jonisgyont does not lose all his winter food.” 

Then Nukdago, the Chief, ran back to the Council House be¬ 
neath the great forest Oak. 

And when midnight was come, and the moon shone bright, Nuk¬ 
dago returned to the Pine Tree and stood in its shadows. Soon the 
Woodchuck came softly from his burrow, and began to dig in the 
ground near the tree. And he dug so fast and furiously, that the 
dirt flew out behind him like a black cloud. 

“This is very strange,” thought Nukdago, “for Woodchuck fin¬ 
ished digging his burrow many Moons ago.” 

Deeper and deeper the Woodchuck dug, until he had made a 
large hole. Then he disappeared into his burrow. Soon he returned 
with his cheeks puffed out like a bag full of wind. And as he came 
creeping along, he looked behind him as if he feared someone might 
see him. Then one by one he dropped fat hickory nuts from his 
cheeks into the hole he had dug. 

And all night long he carried nuts from the burrow to the hole. 
And when the sun began to shine, the wily one covered the hole 
with grass. 

“Too many nuts, too far from the nut trees for lazy Woodchuck 
to gather!” thought Nukdago, the Chief. “I will return again to- 



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night and watch.” And he ran back to the Council House beneath 
the great Oak. 

So when midnight was come again, Nukdago the Chief, re¬ 
turned and hid in the shadows of the Pine Tree. Soon the Moon ap¬ 
peared, and the green Bullfrog came jumping from the swamp down 
by the river. He hid behind a moss-grown stone near the tree, and 
his bright eyes blinked with cunning as if he feared someone might 
see him. Then he came hopping slowly from behind the stone, with 
his throat puffed out like a bag full of wind. He hopped to the 
swamp, and dropped two Hickory nuts out of his throat, and pushed 
them under the moss. And all night he carried nuts from the stone 
to the swamp. 

“Too many nuts, and too far from the nut trees, for lazy Bullfrog 
to gather!” thought Nukdago. “Tomorrow, I must see justice done!” 
And he ran back to the Council House beneath the great Oak Tree. 

And when the morning was come the wise Nukdago called to¬ 
gether all the Big Chiefs of the forest animals. And when they were 
seated round the Council Fire, Nukdago sent Jonisgyont to summon 
the Woodchuck and the Frog. 

But soon the little Squirrel came back without them, for the Frog 
had jumped under the moss-grown stone and the Woodchuck had 
hidden in his burrow. 

1 hen the wise Nukdago hastened to the Pine Tree, and told some 
of his strongest animals to catch the thieves. Soon they dragged the 
trembling Frog and the shamefaced Woodchuck from their hiding 
places. Nukdago then led them to the Council House, and placed 
them before the Big Chiefs. The Woodchuck sat there stroking 
his grizzly whiskers, while the Frog puffed out his sides with rage. 

1 hen said Nukdago to the Big Chiefs: “See these two bad ones? 
They have robbed little Jonisgyont of all his Winter store. And 
Nukdago told them what he had seen. 

The Big Chiefs when they heard this, sent messengers to the Pine 
Tree, and they found the nuts just as Nukdago had said. Then they 
made Nukdago the judge to punish the thieves. 




Animal Stories 


131 


So the wise Nukdago said to the Frog: “You belong to a tribe 
that has always been able to get its food without work. You sit in 
the sun and stick out your long, lapping tongue and catch the Flies 
and Bugs that pass your door. But poor little Jonisgyont must work 
long and hard to gather his food for Winter. You sleep all through 
the cold moons and need no food then, but little Jonisgyont stays 
awake and must have food to eat so that he may keep alive.” 

“You have not only stolen, but you have been selfish. Your pun¬ 
ishment shall be to lose most of your teeth, so that you can never eat 
nuts again. Go back now to your swamp in disgrace.” 

And as the Frog hopped from the Council House, one by one 
most of his teeth fell from his mouth. 

“And as for you, Woodchuck,” said Nukdago,, “you shall not 
lose your teeth, but your punishment shall be a just one. You too 
sleep through the Winter, and need no food then. In Summertime, 
Sweet Clover, rich grains and berries grow for you; and birds and 
fish are your food.” 

“You shall not be deprived of green-growing things, but no 
longer shall you be able to eat birds and fish. Go back, now, in dis¬ 
grace to your burrow, and stay there until spring paints your shadow 
on the snow.” 

And as the Woodchuck left the Council House in shame, he lost 
his appetite for birds and fish. 

Then the wise Nukdago, turning to little Jonisgyont, said: “Little 
Squirrel, if you had been more watchful, and if you had not run a- 
way to play in the fallen leaves, you might have guarded your store¬ 
house. 

“Yet I will help you. From now on your eyes shall be bigger and 
rounder, so that you may see on all sides of you. Webby wings shall 
grow on your legs, so that you may fly from tree to tree and reach 
your storehouse quickly, when thieves are near. But I warn you to 
hide from the Sun and work in the shadows.” 

And as the happy little Jonisgyont left the Council House, his 
eyes became bigger and rounder, and webbed skin grew on each of 




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his sides from leg to leg, to serve as wings when he spread his feet 
and tail. 

And as the little one flew from tree to tree he gave many shrill 
cries of joy, until he reached his storehouse, and there he found all 
his nuts again. 

Ever since then, Flying Squirrels have lived in the woods, and 
Frogs have had only a few teeth, while Woodchucks have lost their 
appetites for birds and fish. 

And when an Iroquois child loses his first tooth, he carries it to 
a swamp, where Bullfrogs are croaking, and he throws it away and 

calls. “Froggy! Froggy! my tooth is there! 

Give me another as strong as a Bear!” 

And when the Sun paints the Woodchucks shadow on the snow, 
the Indian boys say, “The Spring is near!” 

Frances Jenkins Olcott: The Red Indian Fairy Book. Permission Houghton Mifflin ic Company 















Animal Stories 


133 



TheTittle Rabbit Who Wanted Tied Wings 

NCE upon a time there was a little White Rabbit with two 
^ beautiful, long, pink ears and two bright red eyes and four 
soft little feet —such a pretty little White Rabbit, but he wasn’t 
happy. 

Just think, this little White Rabbit wanted to be somebody else 
instead of the nice little rabbit that he was. 

When Mr. Bushy Tail, the gray squirrel, went by, the little White 
Rabbit would say to his Mammy: 

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a long gray tail like Mr. Bushy 

tail’s”. 

And when Mr. Porcupine went by, the little White Rabbit would 
say to his Mammy: 




























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“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a back full of bristles like Mr. Por¬ 
cupine’s”. 

And when Miss Puddle-Duck went by in her two little red 
rubbers, the little White Rabbit would say: 

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a pair of red rubbers like Miss 
Puddle-Duck’s”. 

So he went on and on wishing until his Mammy was clean tired 
out with his wishing, and Old Mr. Ground Hog heard him one day. 

Old Mr. Ground Hog is very wise, indeed, so he said to the 
little White Rabbit: 

“Why don’t you-all go down to Wishing Pond, and if you look in 
the water at yourself and turn around three times in a circle, you-all 
will get your wish.” 

So the little White Rabbit trotted off all alone by himself through 
the woods until he came to a little pool of green water lying in a 
low tree stump, and that was the Wishing Pond. There was a little 
little bird, all red, sitting on the edge of the Wishing Pond to get a 
drink, and as soon as the little White Rabbit saw him he began to 
wish again: 

“Oh, I wish I had a pair of little red wings!” he said. Just then 
he looked in the Wishing Pond and he saw his little white face. 
Then he turned around three times and something happened. He 
began to have a queer feeling in his shoulders, like he felt in his 
mouth when he was cutting his teeth. It was his wings coming 
through. So he sat all day in the woods by the Wishing Pond wait¬ 
ing for them to grow, and, by and by, when it was almost sundown, 
he started home to see his Mammy and show her, because he had a 
beautiful pair of long, trailing red wings. 

But by the time he reached home it was getting dark, and when 
he went in the hole at the foot of a big tree where he lived, his 
Mammy didn’t know him. No, she really and truly did not know 
him, because, you see, she had never seen a rabbit with red wings in 
all her life. And so the little White Rabbit had to go out again, be- 




Animal Stories 


135 


cause his Mammy wouldn’t let him get into his own bed. He had to 
go out and look for some place to sleep all night. 

He went and went, until he came to Mr. Bushy Tail’s house, and 
he rapped on the door and said: 

“Please, kind Mr. Bushy Tail, may I sleep in your house all 
night?” 

But Mr. Bushy Tail opened his door a crack and then he slammed 
it tight shut again. You see he had never seen a rabbit with red 
wings in all his life. 

So the little White Rabbit went and went, until he came to Old 
Mr. Ground Hog’s hole, and Old Mr. Ground Hog let him sleep 
with him all night, but the hole had beech nuts spread all over it. 
Old Mr. Ground Hog liked to sleep on them, but they hurt the little 
White Rabbit’s feet and made him very uncomfortable before morn- 
ing. 

When it came morning, the little White Rabbit decided to try 
his wings and fly a little, so he climbed up on a hill and spread his 
wings and sailed off, but he landed in a low bush all full of prickles, 
and his four feet got mixed up with the twigs so he couldn’t get down. 

“Mammy, Mammy, Mammy, come and help me!” he called. 

His Mammy didn’t hear him, but Old Mr. Ground Hog did, and 
he came and helped the little White Rabbit out of the prickly bush. 

“Don’t you-all want your red wings?” Mr. Ground Hog asked. 

“No, no!” said the little White Rabbit. 

“Well,” said the Old Ground Hog, “Why don’t you-all go down 
to the Wishing Pond and wish them off again?” 

So the little White Rabbit went down to the Wishing Pond and 
he saw his face in it. Then he turned around three times, and, sure 
enough, his red wings were gone. Then he went home to his 
Mammy, who knew him right away and was so glad to see him that 
he never, never wished to be something different from what he really 
was again. 


—Southern Folk Tale. 




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The fat, the -Thlonkey and the faestnuts 

A CAT and a Monkey were sitting one day on the hearth in 
front of a fire where their master had left some chestnuts 
to roast in the ashes. The chestnuts were bursting finely in the 
heat, when the Monkey said: 

“It is plain to see that you have splendid paws—just like the 
hands of a man. How easily you could take the chestnuts out of 
the fire! Won’t you try it?” 

The silly Cat, much flattered by the speech, reached forward 
and caught one of the chestnuts. The ashes were so hot that he 
jerked his paw back with a cry of pain. 

The Monkey laughed, and this so hurt the Cat’s pride that 
the foolish animal drew out one of the nuts, in spite of the fact 
that his paw was singed. 

He did not stop, however, but drew out one after another and 
put them behind him, though every time he burned his paw. When 
he could reach no more he turned to look behind him at the nuts 
he laid there, and was astonished to see that the Monkey had 
shelled and eaten every one. 

It often happens that one person “makes a catspaw” of another. 






































Animal Stories 


137 



The Tell of <iAtri 

T ONG ago, in the little Italian village of Atri, there was a curious 
bell. It did not hang over a church to summon the people to 
the services, nor did it hang in a school belfry to call the children 
to their work. In fact, this bell was not rung every day; some¬ 
times weeks would pass without its being heard. The people called 
it the Bell of Justice, because when any person in the town felt 
himself ill treated or unfairly dealt with, he had only to ring the 
Bell of Justice, and the Mayor and all the towns-folk would gather 
together to hear his cause and to see that justice was done. 

This bell was suspended from a tall archway, and was rung by 
pulling the rope that hung from it and almost reached to the ground. 
In the course of years this rope grew worn and frayed at the ends, 
and the people said, “We must put a new rope on the Bell of Just¬ 
ice.” But they always forgot to do this, so one day someone tied 
a grapevine to the end of the rope, to lengthen it. This looked 
very odd, a bell rope with a grapevine dangling on the end of it, 
but the people forgot it; so there it stayed. 

Now there lived in Atri an old knight who had grown more 
thrifty and miserly every day of his life. As a young man, he had 
mounted a fine white horse and gone away to war. In battle, this 
young knight and his white horse did many brave and perilous deeds, 
and brought fame upon the little village of Atri. When at last 






















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they returned from the war, the whole town was proud to welcome 
the knight of brave deeds and the horse that had carried him through 
so many dangers. The young man himself declared that never 
would he have come through alive, if it had not been for the strength 
and endurance of his horse, and he vowed that as long as he lived, 
his horse should lack for nothing. The villagers agreed that this 
was only right and fair. 

Strange to say, as this knight grew older, he became mean and 
miserly. He spent as little money as he could, never gave away a 
penny, and scrimped and scraped to save more each year. He let 
his house go to rack and ruin. His stable had great holes in the 
roof, so that when it rained his horse had to stand wet and shivering 
in his stall. Presently, he began to feed the poor animal less and 
less, until that once splendid horse became a pitiful bag of bones. 
Bad as this was, the ungrateful wretch begrudged his beast the little 
that it had, and at last, in order to avoid seeing its gentle eyes look¬ 
ing at him with their usual look of love and trustfulness, he turned 
it out of its stall to wander the highways and byways of the town and 
get along as best it might. 

This happened on a cold, rainy day, and the poor old horse 
hobbled up and down the streets, looking in vain for something to 
eat. The boys hooted at the poor old thing, finding in its protrud¬ 
ing bones and sorry looking condition a queer figure of a horse. 
A few of them flung stones at the poor beast and laughed to see 
it hobble feebly away. The old steed looked at them sadly; after 
all, they were no worse than its master. Apparently no one in the 
world cared what became of a tired, hungry old horse. 

At noon the next day the people of Atri were disturbed at their 
dinners by the sudden clamor of a bell. It was the Bell of Justice, 
and someone was ringing it with might and main. It seemed to 
clamor and shout: 

“Ding, dong, hear my cause! 

Ding, dong, hear my cause!” 

The townspeople had never heard it ring so loudly. 



Animal Stories 


139 


“It is a great cause, surely, to summon us with so loud a peal,” 
they said, and left their dinner tables and ran to the place where 
the Bell of Justice hung. There, a strange sight met their eyes. 
Under the archway, stood a forlorn, old, white horse, eyeing them 
sorrowfully, but never letting go of the grapevine that dangled 
at the end of the bell rope. It offered a few sparse shoots of green 
to the poor, starving beast, and the horse ate greedily, shaking and 
pulling the vine, undisturbed by the clamor of the bell overhead. 

At first, the people laughed when they saw a horse pulling the 
Bell of Justice, then someone noticed the old knight slipping away 
from the crowd, and a voice cried out: 

“Why, look you, ’tis the knight’s own horse, a poor bag of bones 
from starvation. ’Tis a great shame! Hold the knight till the 
Mayor comes to hear this case.” 

Still the old horse pulled the Bell of Justice: 

“Ding, dong, hear my cause! 

Ding, dong, hear my cause!” 

Then the Mayor came, and the knight and the old horse were 
brought before him. The Mayor looked from one to the other, then 
he said: 

“I have no need to hear more of this case. The horse has sounded 
the Bell of Justice with as much reason as any man who has ever 
rung it. Sir Knight, this horse has worked for you, and on your 
own word, saved your life. Yet you have repaid it with starvation, 
ill treatment and neglect. There is no excuse for this, for you are a 
rich man. You have wronged and injured this horse that was your 
friend. I do now declare that justice shall be done. You shall set 
aside your best meadow for this horse; you shall repair its stable; 
you shall provide it with fresh hay to rest upon, and you shall feed 
and care for it so long as you shall live.” 

The old horse dropped the grapevine, neighed, whinnied and 
rubbed its soft nose against its master's coat. The knight looked 
into the trusting eyes of his horse, and suddenly he threw his arms 
around its neck. 



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“Forgive me, old friend,” he cried, “and I will do more than 
justice to you. I will never fail you again.” 

So the knight and his horse went home together, the old horse 
trotting along happily, as if it knew quite well that oats and hay 
and good care were in store for it. 

The people of Atri say that the knight was cured of his miserli¬ 
ness from that day on. Certainly there never was an animal that 
lived in such comfort as the old white horse that rang the Bell of 
Justice in Atri. 


— Adapted. 

















































Animal Stories 


141 



cJhCrs. Qhinchilla 

M RS. CHINCHILLA was not a lovely lady, with a dress of soft 
gray cloth and a great chinchilla muff and boa. Not at all. 
Mrs. Chinchilla was a beautiful cat, with sleek fur like silver-gray 
satin, and a very handsome tail to match, quite long enough to brush 
the ground when she walked. She didn’t live in a house, but she had 
a very comfortable home in a fine drug-store, with one large bay- 
window almost to herself and her kittens. She had three pretty, fat 
dumplings of kittens, all in soft shades of gray, like their mother. She 
didn’t like any other color in kittens so well as a quiet, ladylike gray. 
None of her children ever were black, or white, or yellow, but some¬ 
times they had four snow-white socks on their gray paws. Mrs. 
Chinchilla didn’t mind that, for white socks were really a handsome 
finish to a gray kitten, though, of course, it was a deal of trouble to 
keep them clean. 

At the time my story begins the kits were all tiny catkins, whose 
eyes had been open only a day or two, so Mrs. Chinchilla had to 
wash them every morning herself. She had the most wonderful 
tongue! I’ll tell you what that tongue had in it: a hair brush, a 
comb, a tooth-brush, a nail brush, a sponge, a towel, and a cake of 
soap! And when Mrs. Chinchilla had finished those three little 
catkins, they were as fresh and sweet, and shiny and clean, and kiss- 
able and huggable, as any baby just out of a bath-tub. 

One morning, just after the little kits had had their scrub in 
the sunny bay-window, they felt, all at once, old enough to play; 













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and they began to scramble over each other, and run about between 
the great colored glass jars, and even to chase and bite the ends of 
their own tails. They had not known that they had any tails before 
that morning, and of course it was a charming surprise. Mrs. Chin¬ 
chilla looked on lazily and gravely. It had been a good while since 
she had had time or had felt young and gay enough to chase her 
tail, but she was very glad to see the kittens enjoy themselves harm¬ 
lessly. 

Now, while this was going on, some one came up to the window 
and looked in. It was the Boy who lived across the street. Mrs. 
Chinchilla disliked nearly all boys, but she was afraid of this one. 
He had golden curls and a Fauntleroy collar, and the sweetest lips 
that ever said prayers, and clean dimpled hands that looked as if 
they had been made to stroke cats and make them purr. But in¬ 
stead of stroking them he rubbed their fur the wrong way, and 
hung tin kettles to their tails, and tied handkerchiefs over their heads. 
When Mrs. Chinchilla saw the Boy she humped her back, so that 
it looked like a gray mountain, and said, “Sftt” three times. When 
the Boy found that she was looking at him, and lashing her tail, and 
yawning so as to show him her sharp white teeth, he suddenly dis¬ 
appeared from sight. So Mrs. Chinchilla gave the kittens their 
breakfast, and they cuddled themselves into a round ball, and went 
fast asleep. They were first rolled so tightly, and then so tied up 
with their tails, that you couldn’t have told whether they were 
three or six little catkins. When their soft purr-r-r-r-r, purr-r-r-r 
had first changed into sleepy little snores, and then died away al¬ 
together, Mrs. Chinchilla jumped down out of the window, and 
went for her morning airing in the back yard. At the same time 
the druggist passed behind a tall desk to mix some medicine, and 
the shop was left alone. 

Just then the Boy (for he hadn’t gone away at all; he had just 
stooped out of sight) rushed in the door quickly, snatched one of 
the kittens out of the round ball, and ran away with it as fast as he 
could run. Pretty soon Mrs. Chinchilla came back, and of course 




Animal Stories 


143 


she counted the kittens the very first thing. She always did it. To 
her surprise and fright she found only two instead of three. She 
knew she couldn’t be mistaken. There were five kittens in her last 
family, and two less in this family; and five kittens less two kittens 
is three kittens. One chinchilla catkin gone! What should she do? 

She had once heard a lady say that there were too many cats in 
the world already, but she had not patience with people who made 
such wicked speeches. Her kittens had always been so beautiful 
that they sometimes sold for fifty cents apiece, and none of them had 
ever been drowned. 

Mrs. Chinchilla knew in a second just where that kitten had gone. 
It makes a pussy-cat very quick and bright and wise to take care of 
and train large families of frisky kittens, with very little help from 
their father in bringing them up. She knew that that Boy had 
carried off the kitten, and she intended to have it back, and scratch 
the Boy with some long scratches, if she could only get the chance. 
Looking at her claws, she found them nice and sharp, and as the 
druggist opened the door for a customer Mrs. Chinchilla slipped 
out, with just one backward glance, as much as to say, “Gone out, 
will be back soon.” Then she dashed across the street, and waited 
on the steps of the Boy’s house. Very soon a man came with a bundle, 
and when the housemaid opened the door Mrs. Chinchilla walked in. 
She hadn’t any visiting-card with her; but then the Boy hadn’t left 
any card when he called for the kitten, so she didn’t care for that. 

The housemaid didn’t see her when she slipped in. It was a very 
nice house to hold such a heartless boy, she thought. The parlor 
door was open, but she knew the kitten wouldn’t be there, so she ran 
upstairs. When she reached the upper hall she stood perfectly 
still, with her ears up and her whiskers trembling. Suddenly she 
heard a faint mew, then another, and then a laugh; that was the 
Boy. She pushed open a door that was ajar, and walked into the 
nursery. The Boy was seated in the middle of the floor, tying the 
kitten to a tin cart, and the poor little thing was mewing piteously. 
Mrs. Chinchilla dashed up to the Boy, scratched him as many long 




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scratches as she had time for at that moment, took the frightened 
kitten in her kind, gentle mouth, the way all mother-cats do (be¬ 
cause if they carried them in their forepaws they wouldn’t have 
enough left to walk on) and was downstairs and out on the front 
doorstep before the housemaid had finished paying the man for the 
bundle. And when she got that chinchilla catkin home in the safe, 
sunny bay-window, she washed it over and over and over so man) 
times that it never forgot, so long as it lived, the day it was stolen 
by the Boy. 

When the Boy’s mother hurried upstairs to see why he was crying 
so loud, she told him that he must expect to be scratched by mother- 
cats if he stole their kittens. “I shall take your pretty Fauntleroy 
collar off,” she said; “it doesn’t match your disposition.” 

The Boy cried bitterly until luncheon time, but when he came 
to think over the matter, he knew that his mother was right, and Mrs. 
Chinchilla was right, too, so he treated all mother-cats and their 
kittens more kindly after that. 


Kate Douglas Wiggin. 














































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Cinderella 

/^vNCE there were three sisters who lived together. The two old- 
est were vain, idle creatures, who thought of nothing but fine 
clothes and going to balls, and they led their youngest sister a sad 
life. She, poor child, was a hundred times prettier than they, although 
they were richly dressed, while she went in rags. She was gentle and 
good, too, and they were cross and disgreeable. Moreover, while 
they did nothing all day but look at themselves in the mirror and 
talk about their clothes, she had to scour the pots and pans, do all 
the meanest work in the house and wait upon them, besides. Some¬ 
times, when her work was finished, she would steal off to the chim¬ 
ney corner and sit among the ashes and cinders, for indeed her 
clothes were so sooty from her work there was no place else she 
could sit. When her sisters saw her there, they would jeer at her 
and call her the Cinder girl, or if they were feeling unusually good 
tempered, Cinderella. They would laugh at her ragged, sooty 
clothes, too, and never notice what a pretty little thing she really was. 

Now it happened that the king’s son gave a ball and invited all 
the fairest ladies of the land. Cinderella’s two sisters received an 
invitation, and you can imagine how pleased they were. They talked 
of nothing else day and night. The prince was a very handsome 
prince, they said, and they must look their very best that night. Then 
the silly creatures began to plan their clothes, and they could think 
of nothing but laces and velvets. 

“I shall wear my red velvet with silver lace,” said one. 

“And I shall wear my gold brocade with a purple cloak,” said 
the other. 

So they chattered, and they called in sewing women and tire- 














Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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women and hair dressers, and they kept poor little Cinderella hard 
at work, besides. She did her best, and when the day of the ball 
finally arrived, she worked early and late, helping her sisters in 
every way she could. She dressed their heads and laced up their 
bodices, and while she was busy with this thing and that, they said 
to her: 

“Cinderella, would you like to go to the ball?” 

“Oh! I would, I would, with all my heart,” said poor Cinderella. 

Then her sisters laughed at her. “Yes, to be sure you would 
be a fine one at the ball!” They said, “You, with your sooty clothes 
and ashes in your hair, you would cut a fine figure!” 

“Of course, I know I am not one to go. Everyone would laugh 
to see such as I at court. All the same, I wish I were going,” 
sighed poor Cinderella. 

Then her sisters made her hurry and stop talking nonsense, and 
at last they were ready to go to the king’s palace. Cinderella watched 
them drive away in a fine coach, and when they were gone, she stole 
over to her little corner by the chimney, and putting her head down 
in her arms she fell to crying. 

Suddenly, she heard a little noise, and something touched her 
softly on the shoulder. She looked up, and there standing beside 
her was her fairy godmother. 

“Why are you weeping, my dear?” said the old fairy. 

“Because I wish I could—I wish I could—” Cinderella could 
not finish for weeping. 

“Because you wish you could go to the ball,” said her godmother. 
“Is it not so?” 

“Yes, that is it,” sighed Cinderella, wiping her eyes. 

“Well, be a good child and do exactly as I tell you, and you 
shall go to the ball this very night,” said the fairy. “First run 
into the garden and bring me a pumpkin.” Cinderella went im¬ 
mediately into the garden, and gathered the finest pumpkin she 
could find and brought it to her fairy godmother, although she 
could not help but wonder what that had to do with her going to 



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the ball. Her godmother scooped out the 
pumpkin until there was nothing left but the 
rind; which done, she struck it with her wand, 
and instantly it was turned into a fine coach, 
gilded all over with gold. 

“Now, Cinderella, bring me the mouse 
trap.” Cinderella did as she was told, and as 
there were six mice in the trap, the godmother 
touched each of them with her wand, and it 
turned into a fine, gray horse. 

“We need a coachman now,” exclaimed 
Cinderella. “Shall I see if there is a rat in the 
rat-trap that you could turn into a coachman?” 

“A very good idea!” said the godmother. 

Cinderella soon returned with a big rat with long whiskers. 
“He’s the very one!” said the fairy, and touched him with her wand. 
There he stood, a fat, jolly coachman, with a gray velvet suit to 
match his whiskers. 

After that, her godmother said to her, “Go into the garden and 
you will find six lizards behind the watering pot; bring them to me.” 

She had no sooner done so than the fairy turned them into six 
footmen, who walked beside the coach, dressed in splendid liveries 
of green and gold. 

“Now, Cinderella, you can go to the ball,” said the fairy. 

“Alas! how can I go to the ball in these sooty, ragged clothes?” 
said Cinderella. 

“To be sure, my dear, I was nearly forgetting the clothes for 
you,” said the godmother, smiling. Then she touched Cinderella 
with her wand, and in an instant her rags and tatters gave place 
to a robe of silver cloth all frosted with jewels, and there were 
jewels in her hair. Then she gave Cinderella the prettiest pair 
of little glass slippers in all the world. 

“Oh! they must be fairy slippers!” cried Cinderella. “Indeed, 
they are too beautiful for such as I to wear!” 














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“Never mind, my dear, you look quite like a fairy yourself. 
Hurry on, or you will be late. But my child, I nearly forgot to tell 
you: you must be in this house when the clock strikes twelve, for 
at that hour all your servants, coach and clothes will turn back 
to what they were before. Remember now, twelve o’clock!'’ 

“O never fear, dear godmother, I will remember!” and Cin¬ 
derella stepped into her coach and sped away to the ball. 

Now when she reached the palace, the guards at the gate thought 
they had never seen so beautiful a maiden, and they sent one of their 
men into the ball-room to tell the king that an unknown princess 
had arrived. When the king heard this, he told the prince, and to¬ 
gether they went to the door to receive the princess. Cinderella 
made them a low curtesy, and the king took her by the hand and led 

































































































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her into the great hall. There, the lords and the ladies of the court 
bowed low before her, and the prince was heard to whisper that 
she was the loveliest princess he had ever seen. Certainly he danced 
with her many times. Cinderella saw her sisters, but they were so 
busy looking at her silver robe and counting the jewels in her hair, 
that they never noticed her face, and so they did not know her. At 
supper, Cinderella was seated between the prince and the king, and 
she was very happy, when suddenly she saw it was nearly twelve 
o’clock. She immediately excused herself to the prince and the 
king, bade the company goodnight, and hastened away. 

She left the palace none too soon, for just as she came inside her 
garden gate, the clock finished striking twelve, and instantly her 
coach and servants were once more pumpkin, rats, lizards and mice, 
and Cinderella herself was clad in the ragged, sooty clothes of the 
cinder girl. She thought sadly of her little glass slippers as she went 
into the house and sat down in her accustomed place by the chimney, 
but she had not been there very long before her sisters returned. 

“Well, sleepyhead,” they cried, “you should have been at the ball! 
The prince is the finest young man in the whole kingdom, and he 
was very kind to us.” 

“Yes” said the younger of the two, “he was kind to us, but you 
must admit he was far kinder to that unknown princess.” 

“Was there an unknown princess there?” asked Cinderella. 

“Indeed, yes, and she wore the most beautiful clothes in the 
world, and was very friendly to us,” said the older sister; and so 
they chattered on. 

“Well, well, we must go to bed now, for there is to be another 
ball to-morrow night, and it is said that the prince is going to choose 
a bride.” 

“Dear sisters,” said Cinderella, “wont you lend me some of your 
old clothes that I too may go to the ball to-morrow night with you?” 

“Lend you some clothes, indeed, a sooty cinder girl like you! 
We could not be seen in such fine company with you, so think no 
more about it.” said the sisters, and they went to bed. 





Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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The next night, Cinderella helped them get ready for the ball, 
as she had before, only now they were more cross and unkind to her 
than usual, for they felt that they must look better than the unknown 
princess, or the prince would not notice them. After they had gone, 
Cinderella fell to thinking about the ball and wishing she could 
go, when suddenly, there was a little rustling sound, and there stood 
her fairy godmother. Now it happened as before; the fairy made 
ready her coach and servants, changed Cinderella’s rags into a lovely 
robe of silvery cloth and gave her the little glass slippers again. 
Just as Cinderella was ready to drive away, her godmother called 
after her: 

“Don’t forget, my dear, you must be home by twelve o’clock 1” 

“Never fear, godmother, I will remember,” cried Cinderella, 
happily, and drove away. 

Now this ball was more splendid than the one before, and it 
seemed to Cinderella she had never been so happy in her life. The 
prince danced with her constantly, and said many kind things to 
her. All the company agreed that this unknown princess was as 
gentle and good as she was beautiful, and everyone smiled at her, 
except her two sisters. They were so busy planning dresses for 
themselves that should be finer than hers, that they had no time to 
talk to her. Late in the evening, Cinderella was dancing with the 
prince, and she was too happy to think about the time. Suddenly, 
a clock began to strike. Cinderella looked up and saw, to her hor¬ 
ror, that it had begun to strike twelve. Without waiting to say a 
word to anyone, she sprang away from the prince and started run¬ 
ning across the ballroom floor as fast as she could go. On the 
great stairway, she lost one of her little glass slippers, but she did 
not dare to pick it up, for the prince was running after her. When 
the prince came to the stairs, he stopped to pick up the little glass 
slipper, and when he rose, the lovely princess had vanished. The 
prince ran to the guard at the gate and cried: 

“Watchman, watchman, have you seen a beautiful princess pass 
this way?” 



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“No,” said the watchman, yawning, “No one has passed but a 
ragged beggar lassie, who ran crying up the road, but where in 
the world did that pumpkin come from? And look at those rats and 
mice and lizards scurrying up the path! Where did they come 
from?” 

But the prince did not care about pumpkins and lizards. He 
wished to find his unknown princess. So the next day word was sent 
throughout the kingdom that the prince wished to marry the lovely 
princess who owned the glass slipper, and heralds, bearing the slip¬ 
per on a silken cushion, went from house to house, trying it on every 
lady in the land. They came at last to the house where the three 
sisters lived. Poor little Cinderella was sitting in her corner by 
the chimney, when her two sisters tried on the glass slipper. They 
poked and pushed their feet and tried to get the slipper on, but in 
vain. The heralds were just about to leave the house, when they 
noticed Cinderella sitting by the chimney. They asked her to try 
on the glass slipper, but the sisters laughed at them. 

“Oh she is only a cinder girl,” they said, “she could not wear 
the slipper of a princess.” 

“Nevertheless, she may try it,” said the herald. 

Cinderella took the little glass slipper in her hand and smiled 
to see it again; then without a word she stooped down and put it 
on her foot as easily as could be. You can imagine the astonishment 
of the two sisters, but it was nothing to their amazement when this 
sister of theirs reached in her pocket and pulled out the mate to 
the slipper. She stooped and put on the other glass slipper and 
instantly her godmother appeared. The good fairy touched Cin¬ 
derella with her wand, and her sooty clothes gave place to a silvery 
robe all frosted with jewels. 

“Why, it is the unknown princess!” cried the heralds, but as for 
the sisters, they had never a word to say, but hid their faces with 
shame. 

“We will take you to the palace, where our lord the prince is 
waiting to make you his bride,” said the heralds, bowing low. 



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but the little godmother had vanished. Cinderella then saw her 
two sisters hiding their faces and weeping with shame. 

“Do not weep sisters,” she said to them, “I forgive you every¬ 
thing if you will but love me.” 

Then the heralds bowed low before Cinderella and led her away 
to the palace, where the young prince and the old king were waiting 
for her. After a few days the wedding of the brave prince and 
his unknown princess was celebrated with great splendor, and only 
those sisters knew that this lovely princess, who would one day be 
queen, had worked in the cinders and soot and borne the name of 
Cinderella. —May Hill. 























































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The Qolden ddird 



HERE was once a King who had a beautiful pleasure 
garden behind his palace, in which grew a tree that 
bore golden apples. As fast as the apples ripened they 
were counted, but the next day one was always missing. 

This was made known to the King, who commanded that a watch 
should be kept every night under the tree. Now, the King had three 
sons, and he sent the eldest into the garden when night was coming 
on; but at midnight he fell fast asleep, and in the morning another 
apple was missing. The following night the second son had to watch, 
but he did not succeed any better, for again another apple was miss¬ 
ing in the morning. Now came the turn of the youngest son, who 
was eager to go; but the King did not rely much upon him, and 
thought he would watch even worse than his brothers; however, at 
last he consented. 

The youth threw himself on the ground under the tree and 
watched steadily, without letting sleep master him. As twelve o’clock 
struck, something rustled in the air, and he saw a bird fly by in the 
moonlight, whose feathers were of shining gold. The bird alighted 
on the tree and was just picking off one of the apples when the young 
Prince shot a bolt at it. Away flew the bird, but the arrow had 
knocked off one of its feathers, which was of the finest gold. The 
youth picked it up and showed it to the King the next morning, and 
told him all he had seen in the night. 

The King assembled his council, and each one declared that a 
single feather like this one was of greater value than the whole king¬ 
dom. 

“However valuable this feather may be,” said the King, “one 
will not be of much use to me—I must have the whole bird.” 

So the eldest son went forth on his travels, to look for the wonder¬ 
ful bird, and he had no doubt that he would be able to find it. 

When he had gone a short distance, he saw a fox sitting close to 
the edge of the forest, so he drew his bow to shoot. But the fox cried 







Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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out: “Do not shoot me, and I will give you a piece of good advice! 
You are now on the road to the golden bird, and this evening you 
will come to a village where two inns stand opposite to each other. 
One will be brilliantly lighted, and great merriment will be going on 
inside; do not, however, go in, but rather enter the other, even though 
it appears but a poor place to you.” 

“How can such a ridiculous animal give me rational advice?” 
thought the young Prince, and shot at the fox, but missed it, so it 
ran away with its tail in the air. The King’s son then walked on, and 
in the evening he came to a village where the two inns stood; in one 
there was dancing and singing, but the other was quiet, and had a 
very mean and wretched appearance. 

“I should be an idiot,” thought he to himself, “if I were to go to 
this gloomy old inn while the other is so bright and cheerful.” There¬ 
fore he went into the merry one, and lived in rioting and revelry. 

As time passed, and the eldest son did not return home, the second 
son set out on his travels to seek the golden bird. Like the eldest 
brother, he met with the fox, and did not follow the good advice it 
gave him. He likewise came to the two inns, and at the window of 
the noisy one his brother stood entreating him to come in. This he 
could not resist, so he went in, and began to live a life of pleasure. 

Again a long time passed by without any news, so the youngest 
Prince wished to try his luck, but his father would not hear of it. 
At last, for the sake of peace, the King was obliged to consent, for he 
had no rest as long as he refused. The fox was again sitting at the 
edge of the forest, and once more it begged for its own life and gave 
its good advice. The youth was good-hearted, and said: 

“Have no fear, little fox; I will not do thee any harm.” 

“Thou wilt never repent of thy good nature,” replied the fox, 
“and in order that thou mayest travel more quickly, get up behind 
on my tail.” 

Scarcely had the youth seated himself when away went the fox 
over hill and dale, so fast that the Prince’s hair whistled in the wind. 
When they came to the village, the youth dismounted, and follow- 




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ing the fox’s advice, he turned at once into the shabby-looking inn, 
where he slept peacefully through the night. The next morning, 
when the Prince went into the fields, the fox was there, and said: 

“I will tell thee what further thou’must do. Go straight on, and 
thou wilt come to a castle before which a whole troop of soldiers 
will be lying asleep. Go right through the midst of them into the 
castle, and thou wilt come to a chamber where is hanging a wooden 
cage containing a golden bird. Close by stands an empty golden 
cage; but be careful that thou dost not take the bird out of its ugly 
cage and put it in the splendid one, or it will be unlucky for thee.” 

With these words the fox once more stretched out its tail and the 
King’s son sat upon it again, and away they went over hill and dale. 

When they arrived at the castle the Prince found everything as the 
fox had said, and he soon discovered the room in which the golden 
bird was sitting in its wooden cage. By it stood a golden one and 
three golden apples were lying about the room. The Prince thought 
it would be silly to put such a lovely bird in so ugly and common a 
cage; so, opening the door, he placed it in the golden cage. In an 
instant the bird set up a piercing shriek, which awakened all the 
soldiers, who rushed in and made him prisoner. 

The next morning he was brought before a judge, who at once 
condemned him to death. Still, the King said his life should be 
spared on one condition, and that was, that he brought him the golden 
horse, which ran faster than the wind; and if he succeeded he should 
also receive the golden bird as a reward. 

The young Prince set out on his journey, but he sighed and felt 
very sorrowful, for where was he to find the golden horse? All at 
once, he saw his old friend, the fox, sitting by the wayside. 

“Ah!” exclaimed the fox, “thou seest now what has happened 
through not listening to me. But be of good courage; I will look 
after thee, and tell thee how thou mayest discover the horse. Thou 
must travel straight along this road until thou comest to a castle; the 
horse is there in one of the stables. Thou will find a stable boy 
lying before the stall, but he will be fast asleep and snoring, so thou 




Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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wilt be able to lead out the golden 
horse quite quietly. But there is 
one thing thou must be careful 
about, and that is to put on the 
shabby old saddle of wood and 
leather, and not the golden one 
which hangs beside it; otherwise 
everything will go wrong with 
thee.” Then the fox stretched out 
his tail, the Prince took a seat upon it, and away they went. 

Everything happened as the fox had said. The Prince came to 
the stable where the golden horse was standing, but, as he was about 
to put on the shabby old saddle, he thought to himself, “It does seem 
a shame that such a lovely animal should be disgraced with this. The 
fine saddle is his by right; it must go on.” Scarcely had the golden 
saddle rested on the horse’s back when it began to neigh loudly. This 
awakened the stable boy, who awakened the grooms, who rushed in 
and seized the Prince and made him a prisoner. The following 
morning he was brought to trial and condemned to death, but the 
King promised him his life, as well as the golden horse, if the youth 
could find the beautiful daughter of the King of the golden castle. 
Once more, with a heavy heart, the Prince set out on his journey, 
and by great good fortune he soon came across the faithful fox. 

“I really should have left thee to the consequences of thy folly,” 
said the fox, “but as I feel great compassion for thee, I will help 
thee out of thy new misfortune. The path to the castle lies straight 
before thee; thou wilt reach it about the evening. At night, when 
everything is quiet, the lovely Princess will go to the bath-house, to 
bathe there. As soon as she enters, thou must spring forward and 
give her a kiss; then she will follow thee wherever thou carest to lead 
her; only be careful that she does not take leave of her parents, or 
everything will go wrong.” 

Then the fox stretched out his tail, the Prince seated himself on 
it and they both went over hill and dale. 










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When the King’s son came to the golden palace, everything hap¬ 
pened as the fox had predicted. He waited until midnight, and when 
everyone was soundly asleep the beautiful Princess went into the 
bath-house, so he sprang forward and kissed her. The Princess then 
said she would joyfully follow him, but she besought him with tears 
in her eyes to allow her to say farewell to her parents. At first he 
withstood her entreaties, but as she wept still more, finally he 
graciously yielded. 

Scarcely was the maiden at the bedside of her father, when he 
awoke, and so did everyone in the palace; so the foolish youth was 
captured and put into prison. 

On the following morning the King said to him: “Thy life is for¬ 
feited, and thou canst only find mercy if thou clearest away the moun¬ 
tain that lies before my windows, and over which I cannot see, but it 
must be removed within eight days. If thou dost succeed thou shalt 
have my daughter as a reward.” 

So the Prince commenced at once to dig and to shovel away the 
earth without cessation, but when after seven days he saw how little 
he had been able to accomplish, and that all his labor was as nothing, 
he fell into a great grief and gave up all hope. 

On the evening of the seventh day, however, the fox appeared 
“Thou dost not deserve that I should take thy part or befriend thee, 
but do thou go and lie down to sleep, and I will do thy work.” 

And the next morning, when he awoke and looked out of the win¬ 
dow, the mountain had disappeared! Then the Prince, quite over¬ 
joyed, hastened to the King and told him that the conditions were ful¬ 
filled, so that the King, whether he would or not, was obliged to keep 
his word and give him his daughter. 

Then these two went away together, and it was not long before the 
faithful fox came to them. 

“Thou hast indeed gained the best of all,” said he, “but to the 
maiden of the golden castle belongs also the golden horse.” 

“How can I get it?” enquired the youth. 

“I will tell thee,” answered the fox; “first of all, take the lovely 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


159 


Princess to the King who sent you to the golden palace. There will 
then be unheard-of joy; they will gladly lead the golden horse to 
thee and give it thee. Mount it instantly, and give your hand to 
everyone at parting, and last of all to the princess. Grasp her hand 
firmly; make her spring into the saddle with thee, and then gallop 
away; no one will be able to overtake thee, for the golden horse runs 
faster than the wind.” 

This was all happily accomplished, and the King’s son carried 
off the beautiful Princess on the golden horse. The fox did not re¬ 
main behind, and spoke thus to the young Prince: 

“Now I will help thee to find the golden bird. When thou comest 
near the castle where the bird is to be found, let the Princess dis¬ 
mount, and I will take her under my protection. Then ride on the 
golden horse to the courtyard of the palace, where thy coming will 
cause great joy, and they will fetch the golden bird for thee. Directly 
the cage is in thy hands, gallop back to us and bring the maiden.” 

When this plan was successfully carried out, and the Prince was 
about to ride home with his treasure, the fox said, “Now must thou 
reward me for all my services.” 

“What is it thou dost desire?” inquired the Prince. 

“When we come to yonder wood, thou must shoot me dead and 
cut off my head and paws.” 

“That would be a fine sort of gratitude,” said the King’s son; 
“that I cannot possibly promise thee.” 

“Then,” replied the fox, “if thou wilt not, I must leave thee; but 
before I go I will give thee again some good advice. Beware of two 
things: buy no gallows’-flesh, and see that thou dost not sit on the 
brink of a well!” With this the fox ran off into the forest. 

“Ah!” thought the young Prince, “that is a wonderful animal with 
very whimsical ideas! Who would buy gallows’-flesh, and when have 
I ever had the slightest desire to sit on the brink of a well?” 

So he rode on with the beautiful maiden, and his path led him 
once more through the village in which his two brothers had stopped. 
Here there was great tumult and lamentation, and when he asked 



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what it all meant, he was told that two men were going to be hanged. 
When he came nearer, he saw that they were his two brothers, who 
had committed every kind of wicked folly and had squandered all 
their money. Then the young Prince asked if they could not be freed. 

“Supposing you do pay for them,” the people answered, “where 
is the good of wasting your money in order to free such villians?” 

Nevertheless, he did not hesitate, but paid for them, and when the 
brothers were freed they all rode away together. They came to the 
forest where they first encountered the fox, and as it was cool and 
pleasant away from the burning sun, the two brothers said: 

“Let us sit and rest a little by this well, and eat and drink.” 

The young Prince consented, and while they were all talking to¬ 
gether he quite forgot the fox’s warning, and suspected no evil. 

But suddenly the two brothers threw him backwards into the 
well, and, seizing the maiden, the horse, and the golden bird, they 
went home to their father. 

“We not only bring you the golden bird,” said they, “but we have 
also found the golden palace.” 

There was great rejoicing, but the horse would not eat, neither 
would the bird sing, and the maiden only sat and wept. 

But the youngest brother had not perished. By good fortune the 
well was dry, and he had fallen on soft moss without hurting himself, 
but he could not get out again. 

Even in this misfortune the fox did not desert him, but came 
springing down to him and scolded him for not following his advice. 

















Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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“Still I cannot forsake thee,” said he, “and I will help to show 
thee daylight once more.” 

Then he told him to seize hold of his tail and hold on tightly; and 
so saying, he lifted him up in the air. 

“Even now thou art not out of danger,” said the fox, “for thy 
brothers were not certain of thy death, and have set spies to watch for 
thee in the forest, who will certainly kill thee if they see thee.” 

There was an old man sitting by the wayside and with him the 
young prince changed clothes. Thus disguised, he reached the court of 
the King. No one recognized him, but the golden bird began to sing, 
the golden horse began to eat; the lovely maiden ceased to weep. 

The King was astonished, and asked, “What does this all mean?” 

Then said the maiden, “I know not, but I was so sad, and now I 
feel light-hearted; it is as if my true husband had returned.” 

Then she told him all that had happened, although the other 
brothers had threatened to kill her if she betrayed them. 

The King then summoned all the people in the castle before him; 
and there came with them the young Prince dressed as a beggar in his 
rags, but the maiden recognized him instantly and fell upon his neck. 

So the wicked brothers were seized and executed, but the young 
Prince married the lovely Princess and was made his father’s heir. 

But what became of the poor fox? 

Long afterwards the young Prince went again into the forest, and 
there he met once more with the fox, who said: 

“Thou hast now everything in the world thou canst desire, but to 
my misfortunes there can be no end, although it is in thy power to re¬ 
lease me from them.” 

So he entreated the Prince to shoot him dead and cut off his head 
and feet. 

At last the Prince consented to do so, and scarcely was the deed 
done than the fox was changed into a man, who was no other than the 
brother of the beautiful Princess, at last released from the spell that 
had bound him. So now nothing was wanting to the happiness of 
the Prince and his bride, as long as they lived. 




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'Puss in Hoots 

/'"'vNCE upon a time there was a miller who was so poor that at his 
death he had nothing to leave to his three children but his mill, 
his ass, and his cat. The eldest son took the mill, and the second the 
ass, so there was nothing left for poor Jack but to take Puss. 

Jack could not help thinking that he had been treated shabbily. 
‘ r My brothers will be able to earn an honest livelihood,” he sighed, 
“but as for me, though Puss may feed himself by catching mice, I 
shall certainly die of hunger.” 

The cat, who had overheard his young master, jumped upon his 
shoulder, and, rubbing himself gently against his cheek, began to 
speak. “Dear master,” said he, “do not grieve, I am not as useless 
as you think me, and will undertake to make your fortune for you, 
if only you will buy me a pair of boots, and give me that old bag.” 

Now, Jack had very little money to spare, but, knowing Puss to 
be a faithful old friend, he made up his mind to trust him, and so 
spent all he possessed upon a smart pair of boots made of buff-colored 
leather. They fitted perfectly, so Puss put them on, took the old 
bag which his master gave him, and trotted off to a neighboring 
warren in which he knew there was a great number of rabbits. 

Having put some bran and fresh parsley into the bag, he laid it 
upon the ground, hid himself, and waited. Presently two foolish 
little rabbits, sniffing the food, ran straight into the bag, when the 
clever cat drew the strings and caught them. 

Then, slinging the bag over his shoulder, he hastened off to the 
palace, where he asked to speak to the King. Having been shown 
into the royal presence, he bowed and said: 










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“Sire, my Lord the Marquis of Carabas has commanded me to 
present these rabbits to your Majesty, with his respects.” 

The monarch having desired his thanks to be given to the Mar¬ 
quis (who, as you will guess, was really our poor Jack), then ordered 
his head cook to dress the rabbits for dinner, and he and his daughter 
partook of them with great enjoyment. 

Day by day Puss brought home stores of good food, so that he 
and his master lived in plenty, and besides that, he did not fail to 
keep the King and his courtiers well supplied with game. 

Sometimes he would lay a brace of partridges at the royal feet, 
sometimes a fine large hare, but whatever it was, it always came with 
the same message: “From my Lord the Marquis of Carabas;” so 
that everyone at Court was talking of this strange nobleman, whom 
no one had ever seen, but who sent such generous presents to his 
Majesty. 

At length Puss decided that it was time for his master to be in¬ 
troduced at Court. So one day he persuaded him to go and bathe in 
a river near by, having heard the King would soon pass that way. 

Jack stood shivering up to his neck in water, wondering what 
was to happen next, when suddenly the King’s carriage appeared 
in sight. At once Puss began to call out as loudly as he could: 

“Help, help! My Lord the Marquis of Carabas is drowning!” 

The King put his head out of the carriage window, and recog¬ 
nizing the cat, ordered his attendants to go to the assistance of 
the Marquis. While Jack was being taken out of the water, Puss 
ran to the King and told him that some robbers had ran off with 
his master’s clothes whilst he was bathing, the truth of the matter 
being that the cunning cat had hidden them under a stone. 

On hearing this story the King instantly dispatched one of his 
grooms to fetch a handsome suit of purple and gold from the royal 
wardrobe; and arrayed in this, Jack, who was a fine, handsome fel¬ 
low, looked so well that no one for a moment supposed but that he 
was some noble foreign lord. 

The King and his daughter were so pleased with his appearance 



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that they invited him into their carriage. At first Jack hesitated, 
for he felt a little shy about sitting next to a Princess, but she smiled at 
him so sweetly, and was so kind and gentle, that he soon forgot his 
fears and fell in love with her there and then. 

As soon as Puss had seen his master seated in the royal carriage, 
he whispered directions to the coachman, and then ran on ahead as 
fast as he could trot, until he came to a field of corn, where the 
reapers were busy. 

“Reapers,” said he fiercely, “the King will shortly pass this way. 
If he should ask you to whom this field belongs, remember that you 
say, “To the Marquis of Carabas.” If you dare to disobey me, I 
will have you all chopped up as fine as mincemeat.” The reapers 
were so afraid the cat would keep his word that they promised to 
obey. Puss then ran on and told all the other laborers whom he 
met to give the same answer, threatening them with terrible punish¬ 
ments if they disobeyed. 

Now, the King was in a very good humor, for the day was fine, 
and he found the Marquis a very pleasant companion, so he told the 
coachman to drive slowly, in order that he might admire the beauti¬ 
ful country. “What a fine field of wheat!” he said presently. “To 
whom does it belong?” Then the men answered as they had been 
told: “To our Lord the Marquis of Carabas.” Next they met a 
herd of cattle, and again to the King’s question, “To whom do they 
belong?” they were told, “To the Marquis of Carabas.” And it was 
the same with everything they passed. 

The Marquis listened with the greatest astonishment, and thought 
what a very wonderful cat his dear Puss was; and the King was de¬ 
lighted to find that his new friend was as wealthy as he was charming. 

Meanwhile Puss, who was well in advance of the royal party, had 
arrived at a stately castle, which belonged to a cruel Ogre, the richest 
ever known, for all the lands the King had admired so much be¬ 
longed to him. Puss knocked at the door and asked to see the Ogre, 
who received him quite civilly, for he had never seen a cat in boots 
before, and the sight amused him. 





Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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So he and Puss were soon chatting away together. 

The Ogre, who was very conceited, began to boast of what clever 
tricks he could play, and Puss sat and listened, a smile on his face. 

“I once heard, great Ogre,” he said at last, “that you possessed 
the power of changing yourself into any kind of animal you chose— 
a lion or an elphant, for instance.” 

“Well, so I can,” replied the Ogre. 

“Dear me! how much I should like to see you do it now,” said 
Puss, sweetly. 

The Ogre was only too pleased to find a chance of showing how 
very clever he was, so he promised to transform himself into any 
animal Puss might mention. 

“Oh! I will leave the choice to you,” said the cat politely. 

Immediately there appeared where the Ogre had been seated, an 





































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enormous lion, roaring, and lashing with its tail, and looking as 
though it meant to gobble up the cat in a trice. 

Puss was really very much frightened, and, jumping out of the 
window, managed to scramble on to the roof, though he could 
scarcely hold on to the tiles on account of his high-heeled boots. 

There he sat, refusing to come down, until the Ogre changed 
himself into his natural form, and laughingly called to him that he 
would not hurt him. 

Then Puss ventured back into the room, and began to compli¬ 
ment the Ogre on his cleverness. 

“Of course, it was all very wonderful,” he said, “but it would be 
more wonderful still if you, who are so great and fierce, could trans¬ 
form yourself into some timid little creature, such as a mouse. That, 
I suppose, would be quite impossible?” 

“Not at all,” said the vain Ogre. “One is quite as easy to me as 
the other, as I will show you.” And in a moment a little brown 
mouse was frisking about all over the floor, whilst the Ogre had 
vanished. 

“Now or never,” said Puss, and with a spring he seized the 
mouse and gobbled it up as fast as he could. 

At the same moment all the gentlemen and ladies whom the 
wicked Ogre had held in his castle under a spell, became disen¬ 
chanted. They were so grateful to their deliverer that they would 
have done anything to please him, and readily agreed to enter into 
the service of the Marquis of Carabas when Puss asked them to do so. 

So now the cat had a splendid castle, which he knew to be full of 
heaped-up treasures, at his command, and ordering a magnificent 
feast to be prepared, he took up his station at the castle gates to wel¬ 
come his master and the royal party. 

As soon as the castle appeared in sight, the King enquired whose 
it was, “For,” said he, “I have never seen a finer.” 

Then Puss, bowing low, threw open the castle gates, and cried: 

“May it please your Majesty to alight and enter the home of the 
most noble the Marquis of Carabas.” 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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Full of surprise, the King turned to the Marquis. “Is this 
splendid castle indeed yours?” he asked. “Not even our own palace 
is more beautiful, and doubtless it is as splendid within as without.” 

Puss then helped his Majesty to alight, and conducted him into 
the castle, where a group of noble gentlemen and fair ladies were 
waiting to receive them. Jack, or the Marquis, as he was now 
called, gave his hand to the young Princess, and led her to the ban¬ 
quet. Long and merrily they feasted, and when at length the guests 
rose to depart, the King embraced the Marquis, and called him his 
dear son; and the Princess blushed so charmingly and looked so 
shy and sweet, that Jack ventured to lay his heart and fortune at 
her feet. 

And so the miller’s son married the King’s daughter, and there 
were great rejoicings throughout the land. 

On the evening of the wedding-day a great ball was given, to 
which princes and noblemen from far and near were invited. Puss 
opened the ball, wearing for the occasion a pair of boots made of 
the finest leather, with gold tassel and scarlet heels. I only wish 
you could have seen him. 

When the old King died, the Princess and her husband reigned 
in his stead, and their most honored and faithful friend at Court 
was Puss himself, for his master never forgot to whom he owed 
all his good fortune. He lived upon the daintiest meat and most 
delicious cream, and was petted and made much of all the days of 
his life, and never again ran after mice and rats, except for exer¬ 
cise and amusement. _ Adapted 


























































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Qrace ‘Darling 

TT was a dark September morning. There was a storm at sea. A 

ship had been driven on a low rock off the shores of the Fame 
Islands. It had been broken in two by the waves, and half of it had 
been washed away. The other half lay yet on the rock, and those of 
the crew who were still alive were clinging to it. But the waves 
were dashing over it, and in a little while it too would be carried to 
the bottom. 

Could anyone save the poor, half-drowned men who were there? 

On one of the islands was a lighthouse; and there, all through 
that stormy night, Grace Darling had listened to the storm. 

Grace was the daughter of the lighthouse keeper, and she had 
lived by the sea as long as she could remember. 

In the darkness of the night, above the noise of the winds and 
waves, she heard screams and wild cries. When daylight came, she 
could see the wreck, a mile away, with the angry waters all around 
it. She could see the men clinging to the masts. 

“We must try to save them!” she cried. “Let us go out in the 
boat at once!” 



















Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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“It is of no use, Grace,” said her father. “We cannot reach 
them).” He was an old man, and he knew the force of the waves. 

“We cannot stay here and see them die,” said Grace. “We must 
at least try to save them.” Her father could not say “No.” 

In a few minutes they were ready. They set off in the heavy 
lighthouse boat. Grace pulled one oar, and her father the other, 
and they made straight toward the wreck. But it was hard rowing 
against such a sea, and it seemed as though they would never reach 
the place. 

At last they were close to the rock, and now they were in greater 
danger than before. The fierce waves broke against the boat, and it 
would have been dashed in pieces had it not been for the strength 
and skill of the brave girl. 

After many trials, Grace’s father climbed upon the wreck, while 
Grace herself held the boat. Then one by one the worn-out crew 
were helped on board. It was all that the girl could do to keep the 
frail boat from being drifted away, or broken upon the sharp rock. 

Then her father clambered back into his place. Strong hands 
grasped the oars, and by and by all were safe in the lighthouse. 
There Grace proved to be no less tender as a nurse than she had been 
brave as a sailor. She cared most kindly for the shipwrecked men 
until the storm had died away and they were strong enough to go to 
their homes. 

All this happened a long time ago, but the name of Grace Dar¬ 
ling will never be forgotten. She lies buried now in a little church¬ 
yard by the sea, not far from her old home. Every year many people 
go there to see her grave; and there a monument has been placed in 
honor of the brave girl. It is not a large monument, but it is one 
that speaks of the noble deed which made Grace Darling famous. It 
is a figure carved in stone of a woman lying at rest, with a boat’s oar 
held fast in her right hand. 

Baldwin: Fifty Famous Stories Retold, American Book Company. 



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The Fisherman and His Wife 

HERE was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a ditch, 

close by the seaside. The fisherman used to go out all day long 
a-fishing; and one day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at 
the shining water and watching his line, all of a sudden his float 
was dragged away deep under the sea; and in drawing it up he 
pulled a great fish out of the water. The fish said to him, “Pray 
let me live. I am not a real fish; I am an enchanted prince. Put 
me in the water again, and let me go.” 

“Oh!” said the man, “You need not make so many words about 
the matter. I wish to have nothing to do with a fish that can talk; 
so swim away as soon as you please.” Then he put him back into the 
water, and the fish darted straight down to the bottom and left a 
long streak of blood behind him. 

When the fisherman went home to his wife in the ditch, he told 
her how he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was 
an enchanted prince, and that on hearing it speak he had let it go 
again. 

“Did you not ask it for anything?” said the wife. 

“No,” said the man, “what should I ask for?” 

“Ah!” said the wife, “we live very wretchedly here in this mis¬ 
erable ditch. Do go back, and tell the fish we want a little cottage.” 

The fisherman did not much like the business; however he went 






















Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


171 


to the sea, and when he came there the water looked all yellow and 
green. And he stood at the water’s edge, and said, 

“O man of the sea! 

Come listen to me, 

For Alice my wife, 

The plague of my life, 

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!” 

Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, “Well, what 
does she want?” 

“Ah!” answered the fisherman, “my wife says that when I had 
caught you, I ought to have asked you for something before I let 
you go again. She does not like living any longer in the ditch, and 
wants a little cottage.” 

“Go home, then,” said the fish. “She is in the cottage already.” 

So the man went home and saw his wife standing at the door of 
a cottage. “Come in, come in,” said she; “is not this much better 
than the ditch?” And there was a parlor, and a bed-chamber, and 
a kitchen; and behind the cottage there was a little garden with all 
sorts of flowers and fruits, and a court-yard full of ducks and 
chickens. 

“Ah!” said the fisherman, “how happily we shall live!” 

“We will try to do so, at least,” said his wife. 

Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Alice 
said, “Husband, there is not room enough in this cottage; the court¬ 
yard and garden are a great deal too small. I should like to have 
a large stone castle to live in. So go to the fish again and tell him to 
give us a castle.” 

“Wife,” said the fisherman, “I don’t like to go to him again, for 
perhaps he will be angry. We ought to be content with the cottage.” 

“Nonsense,” said the wife; “he will do it very willingly. Go 
along, and try.” 

The fisherman went; but his heart was very heavy: and when he 
came to the sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was quite calm, 
and he went close to it and said, 



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# # 


‘O man of the sea! 

Come listen to me, 

For Alice my wife, 

The plague of my life, 

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!” 





“Well, what does she want now?” said the fish. 

“Ah!” said the man very sorrowfully, “my wife wants to live in 
a stone castle.” 

“Go home, then,” said the fish. “She is standing at the door of 
it already.” So away went the fisherman and found his wife stand¬ 
ing before a great castle. 

“See,” said she, “is not this grand?” 

With that they went into the castle together and found a great 
many servants there and the rooms all richly furnished and full of 
golden chairs and tables; and behind the castle was a garden, and a 
wood half a mile long, full of sheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; 
and in the court-yard were stables and cow-houses. 

“Well,” said the man, “now will we live contented and happy in 
this beautiful castle for the rest of our lives.” 

“Perhaps we may,” said the wife; “but let us consider and sleep 
upon it before we make up our minds.” So they went to bed. 

The next morning when Dame Alice awoke it was broad day¬ 
light, and she jogged the fisherman with her elbow and said, “Get 
up, husband, and bestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land.” 

“Wife, wife,” said the man, “why should we wish to be king? I 
will not be king.” 

“Then I will,” said Alice. 

“But, wife,” answered the fisherman, “how can you be king? The 
fish cannot make you a king.” 

“Husband,” said she, “say no more about it, but go and try. I 
will be king!” 

So the man went away, quite sorrowful to think that his wife 
should want to be king. The sea looked a dark grey color, and was 
covered with foam as he cried out, 




Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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“Well, what would she have now?” said the fish. 

“Alas!” said the man, “my wife wants to be king.” 

“Go home,” said the fish. “She is king already.” 

Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the pal¬ 
ace, he saw a troop of soldiers and heard the sound of drums and 
trumpets; and when he entered in, he saw his wife sitting on a high 
throne of gold and diamonds, with a golden crown upon her head; 
and on each side of her stood six beautiful maidens, each a head 
taller than the other. “Well, wife,” said he, “are you king?” 













































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“Yes,” said she, “I am king.” 

And when he had looked at her for a long time, he said, “Ah, 
wife! what a fine thing it is to be king! Now we shall never have 
anything more to wish for.” 

“I don’t know how that may be,” said she; “never is a long time. 
I am king, ’tis true, but I begin to be tired of it, and I think I should 
like to be emperor.” 

“Alas, wife! why should you wish to be emperor?” said the 
fisherman. 

“Husband,” said she, “go to the fish; I say I will be emperor.” 

“Ah, wife!” replied the fisherman, “the fish cannot make an 
emperor, and I should not like to ask for such a thing.” 

“I am king,” said Alice, “and you are my slave, so go directly!” 

So the fisherman was obliged to go; and he muttered as he went 
along, “This will come to no good. It is too much to ask. The fish 
will be tired at last, and then we shall repent of what we have done.” 

He soon arrived at the sea, and the water was quite black and 
muddy, and a mighty whirlwind blew over it; but he went to the 
shore, and said, 


“O man of the sea! 

Come listen to me, 

For Alice my wife, 

The plague of my life, 

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!” 

“What would she have now!” said the fish. 

“Ah!” said the fisherman, “she wants to be emperor.” 

“Go home,” said the fish. “She is emperor already.” 

So he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife 
sitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown 
on her head full two yards high, and on each side of her stood her 
guards and attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, 
from the tallest giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. 
And before her stood princes, and dukes, and earls; and the fisher¬ 
man went up to her and said, “Wife, are you emperor?” 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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“Yes,” said she, “I am emperor.” 

“Ah!” said the man as he gazed upon her, “what a fine thing 
it is to be emperor!” 

“Husband,” said she, “why should we stay at being emperor; 1 
will think of something else finer, I am sure.” 

Then they went to bed, but Dame Alice could not sleep all night 
for thinking what she should be next. At last morning came, and 
the sun rose. “Ha!” thought she, as she looked at it through the win¬ 
dow, “cannot I prevent the sun rising?” At this she was very angry, 
and she wakened her husband and said, “Husband, go to the fish and 
tell him I want to be lord of the sun and moon.” The fisherman 
was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so much that he 
started and fell out of bed. “Alas, wife!” said he, “cannot you be 
content to be emperor?” 

“No,” said she, “I am very uneasy, and cannot bear to see the sun 
and moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish directly.” 

Then the man went trembling for fear; and as he was going 
down to the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the 
rocks shook; and the heavens became black, and the lightning played, 
and the thunder rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great 
black waves like mountains with a white crown of foam upon them; 
and the fisherman said, 

“O man of the sea! 

Come listen to me, 

For Alice my wife, 

The plague of my life, 

Hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!” 


“What does she want now?” said the fish. 

“Ah!” said he, “she wants to be lord of the sun and moon.” 
“Go home,” said the fish, “to your ditch again!” 

And there they live to this very day. 


Adapted: May Hill. 



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(Micmac) 

^JNCE upon a time, in a large Indian village on the border of a 
lake, there lived an old man who was a widower. He had three 
daughters. The eldest was jealous, cruel and ugly; the second was 
vain; but the youngest was very gentle and lovely. 

Now, when the father was out hunting in the forest, the eldest 
daughter used to beat the youngest girl, and burn her face with hot 
coals; yes, and even scar her pretty body. So the people called her 
“Little Burnt-Face.” 

When the father came home from hunting he would ask why she 
was so scarred, and the eldest would answer quickly: “She is good- 
for-nothing! She was forbidden to go near the fire, and she dis¬ 
obeyed and fell in.” Then the father would scold Little Burnt-Face 
and she would creep away crying to bed. 

By the lake, at the end of the village, there was a beautiful wig¬ 
wam. And in that wigwam lived a Great Chief and his sister. The 
Great Chief was invisible; no one had ever seen him but his sister. 
He brought her many deer, and supplied her with good things to eat 
from the forest and lake, and with the finest blankets and garments. 
And when visitors came all they ever saw of the Chief were his 
moccasins; for when he took them off they became visible, and his 
sister hung them up. 

Now, one Spring his sister made known that her brother, the 
Great Chief, would marry any girl who could see him. 

Then all the girls from the village—except Little Burnt-Face and 
her sisters—and all the girls for miles around hastened to the wig¬ 
wam, and walked along the shore of the lake with his sister. 

And his sister asked the girls, “Do you see my brother?” 













Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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And some of them said, “No”; but most of them answered, 
“Yes.” 

Then his sister asked, “Of what is his shoulder-strap made?” 

And the girls said, “Of a strip of rawhide.” 

“And with what does he draw his sled?” asked the sister. 

And they replied, “With a green withe.” 

Then she knew that they had not seen him at all, and said quietly, 
“Let us go to the wigwam.” 





























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So to the wigwam they went, and when they entered, his sister 
told them not to take the seat next the door, for that was where her 
brother sat. 

Then they helped his sister to cook the supper, for they were 
very curious to see the Great Chief eat. When all was ready, the food 
disappeared, and the brother took off his moccasins, and his sister 
hung them up. But they never saw the Chief, though many of them 
stayed all night. 

One day Little Burnt-Face’s two sisters put on their finest blan¬ 
kets and brightest strings of beads, and plaited their hair beauti¬ 
fully, and slipped embroidered moccasins on their feet. Then they 
started out to see the Great Chief. 

As soon as they were gone, Little Burnt-Face made herself a 
dress of white birch bark and a cap and leggings of the same. She 
threw off her ragged garments and dressed herself in her birch-bark 
clothes. She put her father’s moccasins on her bare feet; and the 
moccasins were so big that they came up to her knees. Then she, 
too, started out to visit the beautiful wigwam at the end of the village. 

Poor Little Burnt-Face! She was a sorry sight! For her hair 
was singed off, and her little face was as full of burns and scars as a 
sieve is full of holes; and she shuffled along in her birch-bark clothes 
and big moccasins. And as she passed through the village the boys 
and girls hissed, yelled and hooted. 

And when she reached the lake her sisters saw her coming. They 
tried to shame her, and told her to go home. But the Great Chief’s 
sister received her kindly and bade her stay, for she saw how sweet 
and gentle Little Burnt-Face really was. 

Then as evening was coming on, the Great Chief’s sister took all 
three girls walking beside the lake, and the sky grew dark, and they 
knew the Great Chief had come. 

And his sister asked the two elder girls, “Do you see my brother?” 

And they said, “Yes.” 

“Of what is his shoulder-strap made?” asked his sister. 

“Of a strip of rawhide,” they replied. 




Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


179 


“And with what does he draw his sled,” asked she. 

And they said, “With a green withe.” 

Then his sister turned to Little Burnt-Face and asked, “Do you 
see him?” 

“I do! I do!” said Little Burnt-Face with awe. “And he is 
wonderful!” 

“And of what is his sled-string made?” asked his sister, gently. 

“It is a beautiful Rainbow!” cried Little Burnt-Face. 

“But, my sister,” said the other, “Of what is his bow-string 
made?” 

“His bow-string,” replied Little Burnt-Face, “is the Milky Way!” 

Then the Great Chief’s sister smiled with delight, and taking 
Little Burnt-Face by the hand, she said, “You have surely seen him.” 

She led the little girl to the wigwam, and bathed her with dew 
until the burns and scars all disappeared from her body and face. 
Her skin became soft and lovely again. Her hair grew long and 
dark like the blackbird’s wing. Her eyes were like stars. Then 
his sister brought from her treasures a wedding-garment, and she 
dressed Little Burnt-Face in it. And she was most beautiful to be¬ 
hold. 

After all this was done, his sister led the little girl to the seat 
next the door, saying, “This is the Bride’s seat,” and made her sit 
down. 

And the Great Chief, no longer invisible, entered, terrible and 
beautiful. And when he saw Little Burnt-Face, he smiled and said 
gently, “So we have found each other!” 

And she answered, “Yes.” 

Then Little Burnt-Face was married to the Great Chief, and the 
wedding-feast lasted for days, and to it came all the people of the 
village. As for the two bad sisters, they went back to their wigwam 

in disgrace, weeping with shame. 

JENKINS OLCOTT —Red Indian's Fairy Book. 




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To Tour Qood Health 

T ONG, long ago there lived a King who was such a mighty mon- 
arch that whenever he sneezed everyone in the whole country had 
to say, “To your good health!” Everyone said it except the Shep¬ 
herd with the bright blue eyes, and he would not say it. 

The King heard of this and was very angry, and sent for the 
Shepherd to appear before him. 

The Shepherd came and stood before the throne where the King 
sat, looking very grand and powerful. But, however grand or 
powerful he might be, the Shepherd did not feel a bit afraid of him. 

“Say at once, ‘To my good health’!” cried the King. 

“To my good health,” replied the Shepherd. 

“To mine—to mine, you rascal, you vagabond!” stormed the 
King. 

“To mine—to mine, Your Majesty,” was the answer. 

“But to mine—to my own!” roared the King, and beat on his 
breast in a rage. 







































































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“Well, yes; to mine, of course, to my own,” cried the Shepherd, 
and gently tapped his breast. 

The King was beside himself with fury and did not know what 
to do, when the Lord Chamberlain interfered: 

“Say at once—say this very moment, ‘To your health, Your 
Majesty,’ for if you don’t say it you will lose your life,” he whispered. 

“No, I won’t say it till I get the Princess for my wife,” was 
the Shepherd’s answer. 

Now the Princess was sitting on a little throne beside the King, 
her father, and she looked as sweet and lovely as a little golden 
dove. When she heard what the Shepherd said she could not help 
laughing, for there is no denying the fact that this young Shepherd 
with the blue eyes pleased her very much; indeed, he pleased her 
better than any king’s son she had yet seen. 

But the King was not as pleasant as his daughter, and he gave 
orders to throw the Shepherd into the white bear’s pit. 

The guards led him away and thrust him into the pit with the 
white bear, who had had nothing to eat for two days and was very 
hungry. The door of the pit was hardly closed when the bear 
rushed at the Shepherd; but when it saw his eyes it was so frightened 
that it was ready to eat itself. It shrank away into a corner and 
gazed at him from there, and in spite of being so famished, did not 
dare to touch him, but sucked its own paws from sheer hunger. The 
Shepherd felt that if he once removed his eyes off the beast he was 
a dead man, and in order to keep himself awake he made songs and 
sang them, and so the night went by. 






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The next morning, the Lord Chamberlain came to see the Shep¬ 
herd’s bones, and was amazed to find him alive and well. He led 
him to the King, who fell into a furious passion, and said: 

“Well, you have learned what it is to be very near death, and 
now will you say, ‘To my very good health’?” 

But the Shepherd answered: “I am not afraid of ten deaths! 
I will only say it if I may have the Princess for my wife.” 

“Then go to your death,” cried the King, and ordered him to 
be thrown into the den with the wild boars. 

The wild boars had not been fed for a week, and when the 
Shepherd was thrust into their den they rushed at him to tear him 
to pieces. But the Shepherd took a little flute out of the sleeve 
of his jacket, and began to play a merry tune, on which the wild 
boars first of all shrank shyly away, and then got up on their hind 
legs and danced gaily. The Shepherd would have given anything 
to be able to laugh, they looked so funny; but he dared not stop 
playing, for he knew well enough that the moment he stopped they 
would fall upon him and tear him to pieces. His eyes were of no 
use to him here, for he could not have stared ten wild boars in the 
face at once; so he kept on playing, and the wild boars danced very 
slowly, as if in a minuet; then by degrees he played faster and faster, 
till they could hardly twist and turn quickly enough, and ending by 
all falling over each other in a heap, quite exhausted and out of 
breath. 

Then the Shepherd ventured to laugh at last; and he laughed so 
long and so loud that when the Lord Chamberlain came early in the 
morning, expecting to find only his bones, the tears were still run¬ 
ning down his cheeks from laughter. 

As soon as the King was dressed the Shepherd was again brought 
before him; but he was more angry than ever to think the wild 
boars had not torn the man to bits, and he said: 

“Well, you have learned what it feels to be near ten deaths; now 
say ‘To my good health’!” 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


183 


But the Shepherd broke in with: “I do not fear a hundred 
deaths; and I will only say it if I may have the Princess for my wife.” 

“Then go to a hundred deaths!” roared the King, and ordered 
the Shepherd to be thrown down the deep vault of scythes. 

The guards dragged him away to a dark dungeon, in the middle 
of which was a deep well with sharp scythes all round it. At the 
bottom of the well was a little light by which one could see, if anyone 
was thrown in, whether he had fallen to the bottom. 

When the Shepherd was dragged to the dungeon he begged the 
guards to leave him alone a little while that he might look down 
into the pit of scythes; perhaps he might after all make up his mind 
to say “To your good health” to the King. 

So the guards left him alone, and he stuck up his long stick near 
the wall, hung his cloak round the stick and put his hat on the top. 
He also hung his knapsack up beside the cloak, so that it might seem 
to have some body within it. When this was done, he called out to 
the guards and said that he had considered the matter, but after all 
he could not make up his mind to say what the King wished. 

The guards came in, threw the hat and cloak, knapsack and stick 
all down in the well together, watched to see how they put out the 
light at the bottom, and came away, thinking that now there was 
really an end of the Shepherd. But he had hidden in a dark corner, 
and was now laughing to himself all the time. 

Quite early next morning came the Lord Chamberlain with a 
lamp, and he nearly fell backwards with surprise when he saw the 
Shepherd alive and well. He brought him to the King, whose fury 
was greater than ever, but who cried: 

“Well, now you have been near a hundred deaths; will you say, 
‘To your good health’?” 

But the Shepherd only gave the same answer: “I won’t say it 
till the Princess is my wife.” 

“Perhaps, after all, you may do it for less,” said the King, who 
saw that there was no chance of making away with the Shepherd; 



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and he ordered the state coach to be got ready; then he made the 
Shepherd get in with him and sit beside him, and ordered the coach¬ 
man to drive to the silver wood. When they reached it, he said: 

“Do you see this silver wood? Well, if you will say, ‘To your 
good health,’ I will give it to you.” 

The Shepherd turned hot and cold by turns, but he still persisted: 

“I will not say it till the Princess is my wife.” 

The King was very much vexed; he drove further on till they 
came to a splendid castle, all of gold, and then he said: 

“Do you see this golden castle? Well, I will give you that, too, 
the silver wood and the golden castle, if only you will say that one 
thing to me: ‘To your good health.’ ” 

The Shepherd gaped and wondered, and was quite dazzled; but 
he still said: 

“No, I will not say it till I have the Princess for my wife.” 

This time the King was overwhelmed with grief, and gave orders 
to drive on to the diamond pond, and there he tried once more: 

“You shall have them all—all, if you will but say, ‘To your good 
health.’ ” 

The Shepherd had to shut his staring eyes tight not to be dazzled 
with the brilliant pond, but he said: 

“No, no; I will not say it till I have the Princess for my wife.” 

Then the King saw that all his efforts were useless, and that he 
might as well give in; so he said: 

“Well, well, it is all the same to me—I will give you my daughter 
to wife; but then you really and truly must say to me, ‘To your good 
health.’ ” 

“Of course I’ll say it; why should I not say it? It stands to reason 
that I shall say it then.” 

At this the King was more delighted than anyone could have 
believed. He made it known all through the country that there 
were going to be great rejoicings, as the Princess was going to be 
married. And everyone rejoiced to think that the Princess, who had 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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refused so many royal suitors, should have ended by falling in love 
with the starry-eyed Shepherd. 

There was such a wedding as had never been seen. Everyone 
ate and drank and danced. Even the sick were feasted, and quite 
tiny new-born children had presents given them. But the greatest 
merrymaking was in the King’s palace; there the best bands played 
and the best food was cooked. A crowd of people sat down to table, 
and all was fun and merrymaking. 

And when the groomsman, according to custom, brought in the 
great boar’s head on a big dish and placed it before the King, so that 
he might carve it and give everyone a share, the savory smell was so 
strong that the King began to sneeze with all his might. 

“To your very good health!” cried the Shepherd, before anyone 
else, and the King was so delighted that he did not regret having 
given him his daughter. 

In time, when the old King died, the Shepherd succeeded him. 
He made a very good King, and never expected his people to wish 
him well against their wills; but, all the same, everyone did wish 
him well, because they loved him. 

































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The Princess on the Qlass Hill 

/^\NCE upon a time, there was a man who had a meadow, which 
lay high upon the hillside. In the meadow was a barn which he 
had built to hold his hay, but I must tell you that for the last year 
or two, on St. John’s night, when the grass stood highest and green¬ 
est in the meadow, something came in the night and destroyed it. 
The next morning, it looked as if a whole flock of sheep had been 
there eating the grass. This happened once , and it happened twice; 
so that at last the man grew tried of having his crop destroyed. He 
had three sons—the youngest named Boots, of course—and so he 
said to these lads: 

“You will, one of you, have to sleep in the barn this St. John’s 
eve and guard the crop of hay in the meadow.” 

“Well,” said Peter, “I am the oldest, so I will take the first turn, 
and there will be no more of this nonsense after I have been there.” 

So, on St. John’s eve, when the grass lay deep and green in the 
meadow, Peter went to the barn and lay down to sleep. But a little 
on in the night there came such a rattle and clatter and such an 
earthquake that Peter sat up and shook with fear. Then, the walls 
shook and the barn creaked and groaned. Peter could stand it no 
longer; he leaped to his feet and ran for the house as fast as he 
could go, looking neither to the right nor the left. The next morn¬ 
ing when his father went to the meadow to see how his crop was 
doing, there was the grass all eaten and gone as before. The father 
was very angry with Peter, but Paul the second son, told him not to 
mind, for the next year he would sleep in the barn and guard the 
crop from all harm. 










Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


187 


The next year on St. John’s eve Paul set off for the barn, feeling 
sure that all would go well with him. He laid him down to sleep, 
when suddenly there came the most terrible rumbling and grumb¬ 
ling. Paul covered his ears with his hands and shook and shivered. 
Then the noise grew louder, the barn creaked and groaned, straw 
flew about as if there were a gale of wind, and at last Paul could 
stand it no longer, but ran to the house as fast as his legs could carry 
him, looking neither to the right nor to the left. The next morning 
the farmer went to his meadow to see how his crop was doing, and 
there was the meadow all stripped and bare as before. The father 
was very angry with Paul, but now Boots, the youngest son, said: 

“Never mind, father, I will guard the crop next year, and see 
if I cannot save it for you. 

“Oh, you will, will you?” said his brothers, laughing and mak¬ 
ing game of him. “Yes, you are a fine one to guard the hay, you 
are; you who have done nothing all your life but sit in the ashes 
and toast your shins!” 

“Well, I can at least try,” said Boots, and to this his father 
agreed. 

So, on the next St. John’s eve, Boots set off for the barn. He 
lay down to sleep, and presently, the barn began to shake and rattle 
so that its straw flew this way and that. 

“Well,” said Boots, “that is bad, but if it gets no worse I can 
stand it.” 

In a little while, there was worse shaking and groaning and 
rumbling, so it was dreadful to hear. 

“That is bad,” said poor Boots, beginning to shiver a little 
himself; “still, if it grows no worse, I can stand it.” 

But just then came a third rumbling and a third earthquake, 
so that the lad thought the barn would fall about his ears, but it 
passed off, and all was as still as death about him. 

“It will come again, I’ll be bound,” said Boots; but nothing more 
happened, and Boots was sitting there listening quietly, when sud- 



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denly he heard a soft crunching sound, as of some animal munching 
grass. He stole to the door and looked through a chink and there 
was a horse eating the meadow grass. But such a horse as that was! 
Boots had never seen the like of it before, so big and fat and grand 
it was. It was glossy black, and it bore a golden saddle and bridle, 
and a full set of armor for a knight lay on the grass beside it. 
The armor, too, was of gold that gleamed and shone in the moonlight. 

“Ho, ho!” thought the lad, “so it’s you that has been eating up 
our good crops! Well, I know a way to fix you;” and with that 
Boots took the steel out of his tinder box, for there is magic in steel, 
you know, and threw it over the horse’s head. Instantly that great 
horse became so tame the lad could stroke him and do what he 
liked with him. So Boots picked up the golden armor, mounted 
the horse and rode him far away to a secret place that no one, save 
himself, knew about. 

The next morning, Boots walked into the house and his brothers 
called out to him: 

“You do not expect us to believe that you have been in the barn 
all this time.” 

“No,” said Boots, “but I do expect you to go to the meadow and 
see how well the crop is growing.” 

The father was indeed anxious to see; so he set off at once with 
the two older brothers following. When they came to the meadow, 
there, sure enough, stood the grass as deep and thick and green as 
it had been the night before. As you can well imagine, the father 
was more pleased to find this than were those two older brothers. 


Now you must know that the king of this country had a very 
lovely daughter, and he had made up his mind that no ordinary man 
should have her for his bride. There was a glass hill close beside 
the king’s palace, and this hill was as smooth and slippery as ice. 
So the king decided to set the princess on the top of this hill, with 
three golden apples in her lap, and the man who could ride his horse 





Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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up that hill and take the apples from the princess should have her 
for his bride, and half the kingdom into the bargain. This notice was 
posted throughout the kingdom, and as there was no end to the love¬ 
liness of the princess, so there was no end to the number of knights, 
princes and nobles who wished to win her hand in marriage. 

When the day for the trial came, there was such a crowd setting 
out for the glass hill that it was hard to find room in the roads. 
Boots’ two brothers decided to set off and try their luck. Before 
they left, Boots said to them, “Won’t you take me with you?” 

“Take you with us? Of course not, a ragged cinder lad like you!” 

“Very well, then, I will stand or fall by myself,” said Boots. 

Now, when the two brothers came to the field, the knights were 




















































































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hard at it, riding their horses until they were all in a foam; but 
there was no use, for as soon as ever the horses set foot on the glass 
hill, down they fell. But all were eager to have the princess, so 
they kept their poor horses slipping and sliding until they were so 
weary they could scarcely lift a leg. At last, the knights had to 
give up trying. 

The king was just thinking that he would proclaim a new trial 
for the next day, when all at once someone cried, “Look!” and 
there coming over the hills, like a flash of sunlight, was a strange 
knight. They could see him coming from afar, for his horse was 
gigantic and glossy black, and the knight himself was clad in golden 
armor that glittered and shone like the sun. As he came nearer, 
they saw that his face was hidden all save his eyes, which were 
looking up at the princess at the top of the glass hill. They called 
to him: 

“There is no use trying to ride up that glass hill; you will only 
break your neck and your horse’s into the bargain.” 

But the knight paid no attention to them; he put his horse at 
that glass hill as if it were nothing, and the horse, with never a 
slip, went straight up that hill. At the top, the knight paused. 
He pjut up the golden visor that had hidden his face, smiled at 
the princess and took the three golden apples from her hand. 

“I am glad you got the apples,” she said, but the knight said 
never a word. He rode down that glass hill and away like the 
wind. They watched him riding over the hills, and across the 
country and out of sight. 

Then the king said: “That knight in the golden armor has 
won the princess. We must find out who he is.” So the king had 
it proclaimed that all who had been at the glass hill that day, should 
appear before him on the morrow. 

Now, when Boots’ two brothers reached home, you may fancy 
the long tales they had to tell. Boots was sitting by the fire, toasting 
his shins, and they said to him: 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


191 


“Oh, Boots, you lazy cinder lad, you, if you had been at the 
glass hill to-day you would have seen a fine sight truly!” 

“No doubt,” said Boots. “Did someone win the princess?” 

“There is a strange thing about that,” answered the brothers; 
“many tried to ride up that glass hill and no one could do it. Then 
came a knight in golden armor who rode up that slippery hill as 
if it were nothing. We saw him take the three golden apples from 
the princess, but he never waited a moment, but rode away as fast 
as he came, no one knows where.” 

“What is the king going to do about that?” asked Boots. 

“To-morrow, everyone who was at the glass hill to-day is to 
appear before the king.” 

“Then, brothers, will you take me with you, that I may see all 
the grand company?” begged Boots. 

“Take you with us? Of course not! You would disgrace us, 
a lazy cinder lad like you,” answered the brothers. 

“Very well,” said Boots, “then I will stand or fall by myself.” 

The next day when the brothers reached the king’s palace, there 
was already a long line of knights, princes and nobles passing in 
front of the king. Beside the king sat the princess, looking as lovely 
as a little bird. As each man passed in front of the king, the 
princess would look at him closely, and then she would shake her 
head, but the king would say: 

“Have you the three golden apples?” and of course the man 
would have to say, “No.” 

When Boots’ two brothers stood in front of the king, he said 
to them, “Have you the three golden apples?” 

“Well, no, we have not, though we very nearly got them.” The 
king waved them away, and the two brothers stood a little to one 
side, watching the long line pass before the king. Suddenly they 
noticed the last person in the line, and they could hardly believe 
their eves, for it was none other than Boots in his sooty rags. 

“How did he come here?” they whispered. Let us hope no 



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one finds out he is our brother; a lazy, cinder lad like him, he 
will disgrace us!” So they murmured. 

Presently, Boots stood in front of the king, and those who were 
watching saw the lovely princess smile. 

“Have you the three golden apples?” asked the king. 

“Why, yes, that I have,” said Boots, and he pulled the three 
golden apples from his pocket; and as he did so, he threw off his 
rags, and there he stood, the knight in the golden armor. 

“You have come at last, and I am glad,” said the princess. 

Boots bowed low before her, and rose and took her hand. 

“You shall have her for your bride, and half the kingdom into 
the bargain,” said the old king. “And now we must make ready 
the wedding feast.” 

So, they made ready the bridal feast, and there was great merry¬ 
making, I can tell you. All those who could not ride up the glass 
hill thought they might as well enjoy the feast; and all I can say 
is, if they have not left off their merry-making yet, why then they 

are still at it. —Adapted from Sir George Webbe Daisent: Popular 1 Tales from the Norse. 








































































Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


193 


The Qedar lVax wings in the City 

/"A NE afternoon in the month of 
July, little Jane Allen and her 
mother were returning from a 
pleasant walk in one of the big 
city parks. They were only a few 
blocks from home, when suddenly 
Jane stopped short and exclaimed 
softly: 

“Why, mother, look at that dar¬ 
ling little baby bird, just ahead of 
us!” 

Mrs. Allen stopped, too, and 
there, sure enough, hopping along 
in the middle of the sidewalk, was a queer-looking baby bird. Ev¬ 
ery once in a while it would flap its wings a bit, but evidently it had 
not yet learned to fly. 

“The poor little thing has probably fallen out of its nest,” said 
Mrs. Allen. “I think we must try to catch him, or some stray cat 
may come along and get him.” 

“I will try,” said Jane, and she approached very slowly and 
quietly. The wee bird watched her calmly, and was apparently not 
in the least disturbed when she stooped gently and picked him up. 

“Oh, mother, I never saw such a little beauty!” said Jane. 
“What kind of a bird is it?” 

The baby bird had a sleek, cinnamon-brown body, with a curious 
black line running from the eye up to a funny, little top knot, or 
crest, which stood up pertly on its head. The tail was decorated 
with a beautiful yellow band, but the most remarkable color about 
the bird was on its wings. The long quills of the wings were 
decorated with spots of vivid red. These looked like drops of 
Vermillion sealing wax, so brilliant and so perfect were they. 


































































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“Look at those red spots on the wings, Jane, and that gay little 
topknot, and see if you cannot remember the picture of this kind of 
a bird in your bird book,” said Mrs. Allen. 

Jane studied her little charge carefully, and suddenly ex¬ 
claimed: 

“Why those red spots do look like red sealing wax! It is the 
cedar waxwing, of course!” 

“That is right,” answered her mother, “and now we had better 
take him home with us, and see what we can do for him.” 

“Oh, I wonder how Pete will like him!” Jane said presently. 
Pete was the canary bird and a very important member of the 
Allen family. His cage hung in a sunny window looking out on the 
garden. 

Jane took the baby waxwing into the room where Petey lived 
and put it on top of Pete’s cage. Pete was amazed. He flew up 
in his cage and craned his neck to get a better view of this odd-look¬ 
ing visitor. Little topknot seemed interested, too, and bent his head 
down to get a good look at Petey. The two birds hopped around, 
staring at each other in great astonishment. I expect Petey was 
thinking: 

“Dear, dear, what an odd-looking young thing! Very ugly 
brown color, not at all bright like our family yellow! Still I must 
admit there is something very fetching about that topknot, and 
while those red spots are a bit loud, they are undeniably dashing. 
Then, of course, he may turn more yellow as he grows up.” 

Meanwhile, little topknot was probably thinking: 

“My stars! What is that poor dandelion doing in a cage? 
Where is his nest? Where is his family? How can he fly, shut up 
like that? Poor old thing! Still he seems a friendly sort and very 
cheerful. I think I would like to know him better.” 

At least, these are the thoughts Jane insisted those two birds 
were thinking as they hopped around, one inside, one outside the 
cage, trying to get a better look at each other. Jane and Mrs. Allen 
were standing there watching the two birds and wondering whether 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


195 



it would be safe to put little topknot in the cage with Petey, when 
suddenly a wonderful thing happened. 

There was a sharp bird cry, a swoop of wings and there was a 
bird clinging to the screen of the window where Pete’s cage hung. 
The bird kept uttering the most piteous cries and fluttering against 
the screen. It was a brown bird, little topknot’s mother! She had 
evidently followed her baby all those blocks and was now doing 
her best to get him. As soon as topknot heard his mother’s voice, 
he peeped lustily and grew very much excited. 

‘That is topknot’s mother, and she wants her baby,” said Mrs. 
Allen. “We must help her, Jane.” 






















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So, together, they carried little topknot out to the garden and 
put him up in a mulberry tree, as high as Jane could climb. In¬ 
stantly the mother bird lighted by the side of her young one, and 
such a chattering you never heard. The father bird soon joined 
them, and both parents began feeding their lost baby as if he had 
been gone for weeks. Jane and Mrs. Allen watched them. 

“That father bird is the handsomest bird I ever saw,” said Jane, 
“Why is the mother bird different?” 

“You mean why doesn’t she have those red spots on her wings?” 
asked Mrs. Allen. “Well, most female birds are duller in color 
than the male birds, and they say it is because they are less easily 
seen, and therefore safer from enemies when they are sitting in the 
nest, hatching their eggs.” 

“How could anyone bear to harm such lovely things as birds?” 
said Jane. “Look at them nowl” 

There in the mulberry tree sat the whole waxwing family, en¬ 
joying the mulberries and apparently talking over their adventure. 

“This is the first time I have ever known a family of cedar wax- 
wings to nest in the city,” said Mrs. Allen. “Perhaps the father is 
saying, ‘You know, mother, I begged you to go up north with me, 
as usual, but you were determined to try a summer in the city, and 
this is what comes of it.’ And then probably the mother answers, 
‘Well, of course, it was an awful shock to have the baby fall out of 
the nest, but you must admit he has been well taken care of and 
seems to be none the worse for his tumble. These city people seem to 
be a very good sort.’ ” 

Jane laughed. “I hope that is what they are saying, and I hope 
they will stay right here in that mulberry tree.” 

The next morning, when Jane came out into the garden, there 
was no sign of the waxwing family, and Jane was greatly alarmed. 

“Don’t worry,” said her mother. “Little topknot almost knew 
how to fly yesterday, and probably this morning, before you were 
awake, his parents completed his flying lessons and took him off 
with them for the day.” 




Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


197 


The next afternoon Jane was playing in the garden, when she 
heard a familiar bird call. She looked towards the mulberry tree 
and there was the whole waxwing family again—mother, father and 
little topknot. 

“Why, you darling thing, you! Did you come back to visit 
me?” cried Jane. The parents cocked their heads on one side, and 
topknot peeped in his loudest voice. Jane called her mother to see 
them. 

“They probably think we served them a good turn and they will 
pay us a call now and then by way of thanks. Incidentally, I think 
they enjoy our refreshments,” added Mrs. Allen, for all three birds 
were busily eating mulberries. They flew away presently. Topknot 
made a series of short flights, resting from tree to tree, but he seemed 
very proud of himself and chirped gaily every time he landed safely. 

Jane felt sure she would never see them again, but a week later 
she was sewing doll clothes beside her mother on the shady veranda, 
when she heard the now familiar greeting of the waxwings. Mrs. 
Allen and Jane looked up, and there, seated on a nearby tree, was 
the whole family, chirping loudly. 

“It is unbelievable!” said Mrs. Allen, and Jane clapped her 
hands and laughed delightedly. Topknot looked as big and nearly 
as graceful as his father. He flew perfectly now, and seemed very 
independent and able-bodied. 

“I believe they are always going to visit us!” said Jane, but 
she was mistaken. This was their farewell call. They chattered 
cheerfully and perhaps were thanking Jane and Mrs. Allen for 
their kindness. Perhaps the father bird was describing the country 
home he hoped to have another summer. At any rate, they flew 
away in the late afternoon, Topknot skimming along gracefully with 
his parents, and Jane and Mrs. Allen saw them no more. 

Petey sang to them consolingly. “Never mind, you still have 
me!” he warbled. 


May Hill 



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The Snow Qhild 

T ONG ago, there lived in Russia an old man and his wife, who 
would have been a very contented old couple except for one 
thing: they had no children. One cold wintry day they saw some 
children playing in the snow, building a snow man, and the old 
woman said to her husband: 

“Let us fashion a child out of snow. God has sent us no children, 
so let us make one now from the snow .’ 7 

The old man smiled at his wife’s odd fancy, but they put on warm 
cloaks and went out into the snow. There they began to build the 
snow into the figure of a little girl, and as they worked they became 
more and more interested, and they fashioned the figure with the 
greatest care. 

When it was completed except for the features of the face, a 
shadow fell across the snow. The old man and woman lifted their 
eyes, and there stood a tall stranger wrapped in a long cloak, with a 
large hat pulled well over the face. Hat and cloak almost con¬ 
cealed the face, but the eyes shone with a curious brightness. 

“Heaven bless your work, my friends,” said the stranger. 

“It is well to ask Heaven’s blessing on all we do,” they answered. 

Then they went on working with the snow, and the stranger 
disappeared as silently as he had come. The old man and woman 
were working very carefully now, for they were making the eyes 
and nose and mouth of their little snow child, and they tried to make 
her just as lovely as the little girl they had wished for all these years. 
















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Just as they finished the little mouth, a strange thing hap¬ 
pened; the lips parted, and the Snow Child began to breathe. 
Slowly the lips grew red, a faint pink flush spread over the snowy 
cheeks, the hair became golden, the eyes opened and were as blue as 
forget-me-nots. 

“Good-day to you, Mother, and good-day to you, Father!” said 
the Snow Child, and held out her hands to them. 

The old man was sore afraid and did not move, but the old 
woman said: 

“God has sent us the little girl we have longed for all these 
years,” and she took the Snow Child into her arms and kissed her 
tenderly. 

The Snow Child grew rapidly, until she was the size of a child 
eight or nine years old. She played with the other children, and 
they loved here almost as dearly as did the old man and woman. 
Snegourka, she was called, and a pretty, happy little girl she was. 
Happy as she was, however, there was one strange fear in her life. 
She could not bear the sight of the sun, but would hide from its sight 
and was never so happy as on cold, cloudy days, when no rays of the 
sun penetrated the little village where she lived. As the days grew 
longer, and the Spring advanced, little Snegourka drooped and 
looked pale and weak. 

“What ails you, my child?” asked the old woman, anxiously. 

“Oh, the sun is terrible. I wish it would snow,” answered Sne¬ 
gourka, and the old woman remembered that she was, after all, a 
Snow Child, and wondered. 

One Spring day the village children called for Snegourka to take 
her to the woods to gather wild flowers. Snegourka loved the forest, 
because there she could find cool, dark places where the sun never 
shone, and there she could play happily, away from the sun’s rays. 
On this day, she had played alone in one of these cool, dark glens, 
but at last the sun set, and Snegourka ran out of her hiding place to 
dance and play with the other children. 

“Snegourka has returned! Snegourka has come to play with us!” 



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shouted the children joyously, and they made a ring and danced 
around her. Little Snegourka tossed her pale, golden hair and 
laughed and skipped gaily in the middle of the ring. 

Then the boys cried out: 

“Let us do something for Snegourka! Let us build a fine bonfire!” 

“That will be fun!” shouted the other boys, and they all set to 
work gathering bits of wood. Snegourka, helped too, for she did 
not know what a bonfire was, but she was happy, because the children 
loved her and wished to please her. 

When the sticks were gathered in a pile, one of the boys lighted 
them, and soon the flames were leaping and crackling merrily. The 
children saw Snegourka watching the fire curiously, and then they 
began to dance round the flames. 

Suddenly, they heard a curious sound. They turned to the place 
where Snegourka had been standing, and there was a little drift of 
melting snow. It looked almost like a little girl, but as they looked, 
it melted rapidly. 

“Snegourka! Snegourka!” called the children, but the Snow 
Child had vanished, and they never saw her again. 

— Adapted, by May Hill. 
























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‘Dick Whittington and His Qit 

T ONG ago, in a small country village in England, there lived a boy 
named Dick Whittington. Dick’s father and mother had died, 
and the lad had a hard time, getting along by himself. The people 
of the town were poor working folk, with little enough for them¬ 
selves, and still less to spare an orphan. Dick lived in rags and 
tatters, and never knew what it was to have enough to eat. In spite 
of his hard life, Dick was a bright, happy boy, dreaming great dreams 
of the fine life he would lead when he grew to be a man. He used 
to listen to stories about London, told by the postboys and wagoners, 
traveling from that city. I am afraid they found it good sport to 
make Dick’s big eyes grow bigger with wonder; for they told him 
that all the people in London were rich and happy, with nothing 
to do but dance and make merry. They told him, too, that the 
streets of London were paved with gold. 

“Then,” said Dick, “all I need to do is to walk to London and 
there I can pick up enough gold to buy me some warm clothes and 
maybe a whole loaf of bread.” 

“That’s right, my lad,” the postboys would say, laughing among 
themselves, “but you will have to wait until your legs grow longer; 
for you could never walk to London as they are now.” 

“I suppose that is true,” said poor Dick, sadly, and wondered 
how much longer his legs would have to grow before he could set 
off for London. 

One bright spring day, after Dick had endured a particularly 
hard winter, there drove through the town a large wagon, drawn by 
eight fine horses with little bells tinkling at their heads. Dick 

























































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had never seen so fine a sight, and when he heard they were bound 
for London he was greatly excited. He trotted along beside the 
wagoner, asking him many questions about the city, and at last 
he summoned all his courage and asked the man to let him travel 
with them. At first the man said no, but when he learned that Dick 
had no home and was nearly starved anyway, he thought he could 
be no worse off in London, so he let the little chap go along. 

That must have been a hard journey for so small a lad. It was 
many miles, and they were many days on the road. The wagon 
was so heavily loaded with parcels and boxes that the wagoner had 
to walk beside the horses, and Dick fell into step with him. I 
think, however, that the man must have let the little boy ride every 
once in awhile, or his strength would never have carried him so far. 

At last, the spires of London town came in sight, and Dick was 
so excited that he could no longer stand the slow pace of the wagoner 
and the horses. He thanked his friend, and set off on the run to 
find those London streets that were so wonderfully paved with gold. 
Poor Dick! Breathless and eager, he entered London, only to find 
in place of golden pavements and merry people, streets foul with 
dirt, and people looking more ragged and miserable than he. At 
first he could not believe his eyes, but wandered up and down, look¬ 
ing for the wonder and the beauty he had been led to expect. Finally, 
footsore, hungry and wretched, Dick curled himself up in a dark 
corner and cried himself to sleep. 

The next morning he was cold and hungry. He tried to beg a 
penny of the passers-by, but they hurried on without stopping to 
look at the little lad who tugged at their coats. Dick tried all that 
day to get work, so that he might earn money and buy his food, but 
no one would take the boy, he looked so small and pale. That 
night, he again slept in the streets, and the next morning he was so 
weak with hunger that he could scarcely stand. He walked slowly 
along a street of fine houses, until he saw a fat cook come out of the 
door of one of them. 

“Please, could you let me help you?” he asked, and his legs 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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shook so that he had to sit down on the steps to keep from falling. 

“Help me, indeed, a lazy lump like you! Well, I should think 
not,” said the cook, but just then her master, Mr. Fitzwarren, came 
out of the house, and the fat cook curtsied politely. 

“What is the trouble, my lad?” asked Mr. Fitzwarren. 

“Trouble enough, truly!” said Dick. “For two days I have 
been trying to get work and food, and now I am so faint with 
hunger I cannot stand up.” 

Mr. Fitzwarren was a kind man, and he felt sorry for Dick; 
so he took him into his house, gave him a good breakfast and told 
him he might remain with them and work for the cook. When 
the cook heard this she was none too well pleased, and as she was 
a hard, cross woman, Dick had a sorry time of it. She used to say: 

“When there are no eggs that need beating, there is always 
that lazy, good for nothing Dick.” 

The poor lad bore her ill usage patiently, out of gratitude to 
Mr. Fitzwarren; but one day, little Alice Fitzwarren came into 
the kitchen suddenly and found the cook beating Dick. When the 
little girl found there was no reason for it, she told her father about 
the cook’s cruelty, and Mr. Fitzwarren warned the woman that it 
must never occur again. 

After that, life would have been very comfortable for Dick 
Whittington, except for one thing. The cook had housed him in 






















































































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an attic, that was so over-run with rats and mice that the boy found 
it impossible to sleep nights. As soon as he had saved a penny 
he bought himself a cat and carried it to his attic to live with 
him there. The cat was a good mouser, and had soon rid the place 
of rats; so Dick could sleep undisturbed. Dick became very fond 
of his cat; it was the only friend he seemed to have in those days. 
He named it “Tabby,” and at night when Dick’s work was over he 
would climb up to his attic cheerfully, because he knew that he 
would find Tabby waiting for him. The cat would welcome him 
with a great purring and rubbing against him, and the two would 
curl up on a bed of straw and go to sleep like two good friends. 

One day, Mr. Fitzwarren called all of his servants together, 
and said to them: 

“My good ship Unicorn is sailing to-morrow for foreign lands. 
It is laden with many things to be traded and sold. It has just 
occurred to me that if each one of you will send something of your 
own on board my vessel, your venture may bring you good returns 
in gold or silver.” 

The servants thanked their master for thinking of them, and 
each one brought something to send over seas, except Dick. He 
sat very still, hoping that no one would notice him, but little Alice 
was in the room, and she called out: 

“What are you sending, Dick Whittington?” 

Poor Dick was obliged to confess that he had nothing to send. 

“But you must have something of your own!” insisted Mr. 
Fitzwarren. 

“Alas!” said Dick, “I have nothing in the world except my 
good cat Tabby.” 

“Then my boy, you had better send her,” urged Mr. Fitzwarren. 
“You never can tell what will sell best in these strange foreign 
lands.” 

Poor Dick! Sorrowfully he climbed the stairs to his attic. 
Tabby bounded to the door to greet him, and purred loudly as he 
carried her downstairs. When Dick put her into Mr. Fitzwarren’s 




Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


205 


arms, Tabby meowed, as if she were not quite sure that all was well. 
The tears streamed down Dick’s face as he stroked her head in fare¬ 
well and told her she would probably find a better home than he 
had been able to give her. 

All the servants laughed at this, but little Alice said: 

“Never mind, Dick, the Captain will take good care of her, and 
I will give you some money to buy another cat.” 

So Tabby was carried away, and Dick was left feeling very 
lonely again. Worst of all, because Alice and Mr. Fitzwarren were 
kind to him, the cook grew angry and secretly mistreated him so 
cruelly and continuously that Dick felt he could not bear it. Time 
passed, and no word came from the Unicorn. There was, indeed, a 
report that it had been lost at sea in a terrible storm, and Dick wept 
to think that he had sent Tabby away. 

One day, the cook had been so tormenting and cruel that Dick 
made up his mind to run away. The next morning, while it was still 
dark, he put his little bundle of clothes over his shoulder and set off, 
before anyone in the house was awake. He trudged along in the 
darkness as far as Holloway. There he sat down on a big rock, that 
to this day is called Whittington’s stone. He rested there for a 
moment, wondering which road to take. 

While he was sitting there the Bells of Bow Church began to 
ring. Dick was startled, for in the stillness of the dawn they seemed 
to be pealing out words. He 
listened, and sure enough, the 
words sounded clearly: 

“Turn again, Whittington, 

Lord Mayor of London. 

Turn again, Whittington, 

Lord Mayor of London.” 

“Lord Mayor of London!” 
thought Dick. “Well, to be sure, 
if I am to be Lord Mayor of 
London, it is nothing to me now 






















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that the cook ill treats me. I can stand that and much worse, if in 
the end, I am to be Mayor. I will turn back at once, and perhaps, 
if I hurry, I can get into the house before the cook misses me.” 

So for the second time Dick Whittington entered London, run¬ 
ning as fast as his legs could carry him and with high hopes beating 
in his heart. This time, he was lucky enough to avoid meeting the 
cook, and she never knew about his running away. 

Weeks passed, and Dick wondered secretly how in the world 
he was ever going to become Lord Mayor of London, if he con¬ 
tinued to work for a bad-tempered old cook in the kitchen. One 
day, there was great excitement in the Fitzwarren household. The 
captain of the Unicorn had returned, and Mr. Fitzwarren sent for 
all the servants to come at once and hear the captain’s strange tale. 
This message found Dick very black and grubby from scouring pots 
and pans, but there was no time for him to wash, and besides, the 
spiteful old cook would not allow him to do so. As he edged his 
way into the room he caught sight of little sacks of gold and silver 
on the table, and on the floor wonderful caskets of precious stones, but 
there was no sign of his beloved Tabby, and his heart was heavy. He 
shrank into a dim corner of the room, where no one could see him, and 
there he listened to the captain’s story. This is what he heard: 

“Our good ship Unicorn was many days at sea, when we encoun¬ 
tered a terrible storm. We were driven off our course, until indeed 
we knew not where we were. At last, after a week of storm and drift¬ 
ing in the fog, we sighted land. When we had made port we went 
on shore and found ourselves in Barbary, among the Moors, a people 
we had never seen before. They received us kindly, and we sold 
and traded our cargo for better prices than we had ever received 
elsewhere. Therefore, Mr. Fitzwarren, I have brought you and 
your servants more in return than you or I dreamed of, but now I am 
coming to the strangest part of my tale. 

“After we had disposed of all of our goods, the servants of the 
king and queen of Barbary, who had been buying for their monarchs, 
told us that the royal pair wished us to come to the palace. We were 



Classic Tales and Every-Day Stories 


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received in a splendid room, richly carpeted and hung with beauti¬ 
ful silks and brocades. The king and queen were seated in front of 
them. Dinner was brought in, but as the servants placed the dishes 
before us huge rats ran out from all sides, seized the food and made 
off with it, or helped themselves from every dish in the most repul¬ 
sive way. We asked the king and queen why they stood it, and the 
king replied: 

“ ‘Stand it, indeed! Have I not offered half my treasure for any¬ 
thing that can rid us of these terrible pests? Still no one has found 
such a thing.’ 

“Of course, I was delighted when I heard this; so I told the king 
that if he would really stand by his word and give half of his treas¬ 
ure, I would bring him something that would rid them of their rats. 
The king gladly gave his word, and I sent one of the sailors to the 
ship to fetch Dick’s cat. When Tabby was brought in, you should 
have seen her. The sailor could scarcely hold her, she was so eager 
to get at those rats. She leaped out of his arms, and in a few min¬ 
utes had killed all the rats and mice in the room and was busy watch¬ 
ing at their holes for any others that might appear. The king was 
overjoyed. Then I picked Tabby up in my arms and carried her 


















































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over to the queen. The queen was afraid of her at first, but when I 
showed her how to stroke Tabby’s head, the old cat began to purr 
and rub up against their majesties, and the queen clapped her hands 
and said: 

“ ‘This is the most wonderful animal in the world—so ferocious 
that she kills our rats and so gentle that she allows herself to be held 
and patted. She is well worth half the treasure. We will pay gladly 
and keep this animal in comfort as long as she lives.’ 

“So Tabby remains in Barbary with the king and queen, but in 
return for her I have brought Mr. Dick Whittington one of the 
largest fortunes in jewels, silver and gold that has ever been brought 
to London.” 

When the captain had finished speaking, there was silence in the 
room. Then Mr. Fitzwarren said: 

“Come forward, Mr. Dick Whittington,” and poor Dick came out 
of his dark corner to receive his great fortune. 

“Now, my boy,” continued Mr. Fitzwarren, “I know of no one 
who deserves his good luck more than you. You are far, far richer 
than I shall ever be, and I hope with all my heart that you may en¬ 
joy your wealth through a long life.” 

Dick was so overcome he could hardly speak, but when he got 
his voice, he thanked them all and insisted upon giving everyone a 
handsome present, from the captain to the cook, and you may be sure 
that he did not forget Mr. Fitzwarren and his little friend Alice. 

After this, Dick bought himself some good clothes and went to 
school. Years passed, and little Dick Whittington grew to be a fine 
young man. He had loved Alice Fitzwarren all these years, and 
so, when he was grown up, they were married, and all the finest peo¬ 
ple in London came to the wedding. After that, Mr. Whittington 
and his lady lived in great splendor, but Dick never forgot the hard¬ 
ships of his early life, and he was always helping the poor. He was 
sheriff of London and twice Lord Mayor, and he always remem¬ 
bered, as long as he lived, that he owed his great good fortune to the 
Bells of Bow Church and a simple old cat called Tabby. 




MYTH S S' 
LEG EM DS 













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fegend of the Olrbutus 

old teepee stood by a frozen river in the forest where there are 
many pine trees. The tops of the trees were white with snow. 
The teepee was almost covered with snow. An old chief sat in this 
teepee; his hair was like icicles that hang from dead pine branches; 
he was very, very old. He was covered with furs. The floor of his 
teepee was covered with the skins of bear and elk, for he had been a 
mighty hunter. His name was Peboan, and he was faint with hunger 
and cold. He had been hunting for three days, but had killed noth¬ 
ing. All the moose, deer and bear had gone. Wabasso, the rabbit, 
had hidden in the bushes. There was no meat, no food for Peboan. 

He called upon the Great Spirit for help. 

“Come, Great Spirit, with help for Peboan (the winter maniton). 
Come, for the Mukwa bear has gone from me. Come, for Peboan is 
old and his feet are weary.” 

Peboan crawled on his hands and knees over the furs to the little 
fire in the middle of the teepee. He blew on the coals with his faint 
breath until the coals were red; and then he sat and waited, for he 
knew the Great Spirit would hear him. 

Peboan heard no sound, but he looked towards the door of his 
teepee. It was lifted back, and he saw a beautiful Indian maiden. 

She carried a great bundle of willow-buds in her arms. Her 
dress was of sweet grass and early maple leaves. Her eyes were like 

















Myths and Legends 


211 


those of a young deer, and her black hair was so long that it covered 
her like a blanket. She was small; her feet were hidden in two 
moccasin flowers. 

“The Great Spirit heard Peboan (the winter maniton),” said the 
maiden. “He has sent me. I am Segun.” 

“You are welcome, Segun. Sit by the fire; it is warm. I have no 
meat. Sit down and tell me what you can do.” 

“Peboan may first tell what he can do,” said Segun. 

Peboan said, “I am a winter maniton. I blow my breath and 
the flowers die, the waters stand still, the leaves fall and die.” 

Segun said, “I am a summer maniton. I blow my breath and 
the flowers open their eyes. The waters follow me on my trail.” 

Peboan said, “I shake my hair, and snow falls on the mountains 
like the feathers of Waubese, the great white swan.” 

Segun said, “I shake my hair, and warm rain falls from the clouds. 
I call, and the birds answer me. The trees put on their leaves, and 
the grass grows thick like the fur of a bear. The summer sky is my 
teepee.” 

“Come, Peboan, the Great Spirit has said it is time for you to go.” 

Peboan’s head bent over his shoulder. The sun melted the snow 
on the pine trees; it melted the snow on the teepee. Segun waved 
her hands over Peboan, and a strange thing happened. He grew 
smaller and smaller. His deerskin clothes turned into leaves and 
covered Peboan on the ground. 

Peboan was gone. Segun took some flowers from her hair and 
hid them under the leaves on the ground. There was ice on the 
leaves, but it did not hurt the little pink flowers. Segun breathed on 
them, and they became sweet. She said, “I go, but the flowers shall 
stay to tell of Segun’s visit to Peboan. The children shall find them 
and know that Segun has sent Peboan away. It shall be so each time 
the snows melt and the rivers run. This flower shall tell that spring 
has come.” 

Peboan’s teepee was sweet with the breath of Arbutus, but Segun 
was gone. 



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212 



The Trairie Dandelion 


JN the Southland, flat upon the ground, lies the spirit of the south 

wind. He is a very fat and very lazy old man. His eyes are 
always toward the cool north, but he will not stir from his resting 
place. When he sighs the air is filled with warm breezes. In the 
autumn his breath is filled with the odor of apples and all manner of 
fruit. He sends the golden Indian Summer to the northland. 
Shawandasee is his name. 

One day, while looking towards the prairies of the north, he saw 
a beautiful girl with yellow hair, standing on the plains in the west. 
Every morning for days he saw this maiden, and she seemed more 
lovely each day. 

But another morning when he opened his sleepy eyes and looked, 
the yellow locks on the maiden’s head were changed to fleecy white. 

“Ah! my brother, the strong north wind, has been more swift than 
I, as he usually is. He has put his frost crown on the maiden’s head. 
I will mourn for her.” 

Shawandasee heaved a number of soft sighs, and as the pleasant 
south breezes reached the maiden, the air seemed filled with tiny 
feathers. The maiden had lost her crown. It was no Indian maiden. 
It was only the prairie dandelion, and the crown that Shawandasee 
thought the north wind had given her was only her crown of feathery 
seeds; but the lazy Shawandasee never knew the secret, and mourned 
for the loss of the golden-haired maiden. 


















Myths and Legends 


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s 


Baucis and Philemon 


AS 


Uj 


NE evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his wife Baucis 
sat talking at their cottage door watching the sunset. But 
their talk was very much disturbed by rude shouts and laughter 
from the village children, and by the fierce barking of dogs. 

“I fear,” said Philemon, “that some poor traveler is asking for 
a bed in the village, and that these rough people have set the dogs 
on him.” 

“Well, I never,” answered old Baucis. “I do wish the neighbors 
would be kinder to poor wanderers; I feel that some terrible pun¬ 
ishment will happen to this village if the people are so wicked as to 
make fun of those who were tired and hungry.” 

Now these old folks, you must know, were very poor, but, poor 
as they were, would gladly have given their last crust of bread or 
cupful of milk to any weary traveler who stopped at their door. 

Not so with the selfish, hard-hearted people who lived in the 
village in the beautiful valley. They had no pity for the poor and 
homeless and only laughed when Philemon urged them to be kind 
and gentle to those less fortunate. 

He and Baucis sat shaking their heads while the noise came 
nearer and nearer, until they saw two travelers coming along the 
road on foot. A crowd of rude children were following them, 
shouting and throwing stones, and several dogs were snarling at the 
travelers’ heels. 

They were both very plainly dressed, and looked as if they might 
not have enough money to pay for a night’s lodging. 




















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“Come, wife,” said Philemon, “let us go and meet these poor 
people and offer them shelter.” 

“You go,” said Baucis, “while I make ready some supper,” and 
she hastened indoors. 

Philemon went down the road, and holding out his hand to the 
two men, he said, “Welcome, strangers, welcome.” 

“Thank you,” answered the younger of the two travelers. “Yours 
is a kind welcome, very different from the one we got in the village; 
pray why do you live in such a bad place?” 

“I think,” answered Philemon, “that Providence put me here 
just to make up as best I can for other people’s unkindness.” 

The traveler laughed heartily, and Philemon was glad to see 
him in such good spirits. He took a good look at him and his com¬ 
panion. The younger man was very thin, and was dressed in an odd 
kind of way. Though it was a summer evening, he wore a cloak 
which was wrapped tightly about him; and he had a cap on his 
head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. There was some¬ 
thing queer, too, about his shoes, but as it was getting dark, Philemon 
could not see exactly what they were like. 

One thing struck Philemon very much: the traveler was so won¬ 
derfully light and active that it seemed as if his feet were only kept 
close to the ground with difficulty. He had a staff in his hand which 
was the oddest-looking staff Philemon had seen. It was made of 
wood and had a little pair of wings near the top. Two snakes cut 
into the wood were twisted round the staff, and these were so well 
carved that Philemon almost thought he could see them wriggling. 

The older man was very tall, and walked calmly along, taking no 
notice either of naughty children or yelping dogs. 

When they reached the cottage gate, Philemon said, “We are 
very poor folk, but you are welcome to whatever we have in the cup¬ 
board. My wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for 
supper.” 

They sat down on the bench, and the younger stranger let his 
staff fall as he threw himself down on the grass, and then a strange 



Myths and Legends 


215 


thing happened. The staff seemed to get up from the ground of its 
own accord, and it opened a little pair of wings and half-hopped 
half-flew and leaned itself against the wall of the cottage. 

Philemon was so amazed that he feared he had been dreaming, 
but before he could ask any questions the elder stranger said: “Was 
there not a lake long ago covering the spot where the village now 
stands?” 

“Never in my day,” said old Philemon, “nor in my father’s, nor 
my grandfather’s. There were always fields and meadows, just as 
there are now, and I suppose there always will be.” 

“That I am not so sure of,” replied the stranger. “Since the 
people in that village have forgotten how to be loving and gentle, 
maybe it were better that the lake should be rippling over the cot¬ 
tages again,” and he looked very sad and stern. 

“Pray, my young friend, what is your name?” Philemon asked. 

“Well,” answered the younger man, “I am called Mercury, be¬ 
cause I am so quick.” 

“What a strange name!” said Philemon; “and your friend, what 
is he called?” 

“You must ask the thunder to tell you that,” said Mercury; “no 
other voice is loud enough.” 

Philemon was a little confused at this answer, but the stranger 
looked so kind and friendly that he began to tell about his good old 
wife, and how happy they were in their little garden. 

Baucis had now got supper ready; not very much of a supper, 
she told them. There was only half a brown loaf and a bit of cheese, 
a pitcher with some milk, a little honey and a bunch of purple 
grapes. But she said, “Had we only known you were coming, my 
good man and I would have gone without anything in order to give 
you a better supper.” 

“Do not trouble,” said the elder stranger, kindly. “A hearty 
welcome is better than the finest of food, and we are so hungry that 
what you have to offer us seems a feast.” Then they all went into 
the cottage. 



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And now I must tell you something that will 
make your eyes open. You remember that Mer¬ 
cury’s staff was leaning against the cottage wall? 
Well, when its owner went in at the door, what 
should this wonderful staff do but spread its little 
wings and go hop-hop, flutter-flutter, up the steps; 
then it went tap-tap across the kitchen floor and did 
not stop till it stood close behind Mercury’s chair. 
No one noticed this, as Baucis and her husband 
were too busy attending to their guests. 

Baucis filled up two bowls of milk from the pitcher, while her 
husband cut the loaf and the cheese. “What delightful milk, Mother 
Baucis, “said Mercury, “may I have some more? This has been 
such a hot day that I am very thirsty.” 

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry and ashamed,” answered Baucis. “But 
the truth is, there is hardly another drop of milk in the pitcher.” 

“Let me see,” said Mercury, starting up and catching hold of the 
handles. “Why, here is certainly more milk in the pitcher.” He 
poured out a bowlful for himself and another for his companion. 
Baucis could scarcely believe her eyes. “I suppose I must have 
made a mistake,” she thought; “at any rate, the pitcher must be 
empty now after filling both bowls twice over.” 

“Excuse me, my kind hostess,” said Mercury in a little while, 
“but your milk is so good that I should very much like another 
bowlful.” 

Now Baucis was perfectly sure that the pitcher was empty, and 
in order to show Mercury that there was not another drop in it she 
held it upside down over his bowl. What was her surprise when a 
stream of fresh milk fell bubbling into the bowl and overflowed on 
to the table, and the two snakes that were twisted round Mercury’s 
staff stretched out their heads and began to lap it up. 

“And now, a slice of your brown loaf, pray Mother Baucis, and 
a little honey,” asked Mercury. 

Baucis handed the loaf, and though it had been rather a hard 






















Myths and Legends 


217 



and dry loaf when she and her husband ate some at tea-time, it was 
now as soft and new as if it had just come from the oven. As to the 
honey, it had become the color of new gold and had the scent of a 
thousand flowers, and the small grapes in the bunch had grown 
larger and richer, and each one seemed bursting with ripe juice. 

Although Baucis was a very simple old woman, she could not 
help thinking that there was something rather strange going on. 
She sat down beside Philemon and told him in a whisper what she 
had seen. 

“Did you ever hear anything so wonderful?” she asked. 

“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a smile. “I fear 
you have been in a dream, my dear old wife.” 

He knew Baucis could not say what was untrue, but he thought 
that she had not noticed how much milk there had really been in the 
pitcher at first. So when Mercury once more asked for a little milk, 
Philemon rose and lifted the pitcher himself. He peeped in and 
saw that there was not a drop in it; then all at once a little white 
fountain gushed up from the bottom, and the pitcher was soon filled 
to the brim with delicious milk. 

Philemon was so amazed that he nearly let the jug fall. “Who 
are ye, wonder-working strangers?” he cried. 

“Your guests, good Philemon, and your friends,” answered the 





































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elder traveler, “and may the pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis 
and yourself any more than for the hungry traveler.” 

The old people did not like to ask any more questions; they gave 
the guests their own sleeping-room, and then they lay down on the 
hard floor in the kitchen. It was long before they fell asleep, not 
because they thought how hard their bed was, but because there was 
so much to whisper to each other about the wonderful strangers and 
what they had done. 

They all rose with the sun next morning. Philemon begged the 
visitors to stay a little till Baucis should milk the cow and bake some 
bread for breakfast. But the travelers seemed to be in a hurry and 
wished to start at once, and they asked Baucis and Philemon to go 
with them a short distance to show them the way. 

“Ah, me,” said Philemon, “if only our neighbors knew what a 
pleasure it was to be kind to strangers, they would tie up all their 
dogs and never allow the children to fling another stone.” 

“It is a sin and shame for them to behave so,” said Baucis, “and 
I mean to go this very day and tell some of them how wicked they 
are.” 

“I fear,” said Mercury, smiling, “that you will not find any of 
them at home.” 

The old people looked at the elder traveler, and his face had 
grown very grave and stern. “When men do not feel towards the 
poorest stranger as if he were a brother,” he said, in a deep, grave 
voice, “they are not worthy to remain on the earth, which was made 
just to be the home for the whole family of the human race of men 
and women and children.” 

“And, by the bye,” said Mercury, with a look of fun and mischief 
in his eyes, “where is this village you talk about? I do not see any¬ 
thing of it.” 

Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where at sun¬ 
set only the day before they had seen the trees and gardens, and the 
houses, and the streets with the children playing in them. But there 
was no longer any sign of the village. There was not even a valley. 



Myths and Legends 


219 


Instead they saw a broad lake which filled all the great basin from 
brim to brim, and whose waters glistened and sparkled in the morn¬ 
ing sun. 

The village that had been there only yesterday was now gone! 

“Alas! what has become of our poor neighbors?” cried the kind- 
hearted old people. 

“They are not men and women any longer,” answered the elder 
traveler, in a deep voice like distant thunder. “There was no beauty 
and no use in lives such as theirs, for they had no love for one an¬ 
other, and no pity in their hearts for those who were poor and weary. 
Therefore, the lake that was here in the old, old days has flowed 
over them, and they will be men and women no more.” 

“Yes,” said Mercury, with his mischievous smile, “these foolish 
people have all been changed into fishes because they had cold blood 
which never warmed their hearts, just as the fishes have.” 

“As for you, good Philemon, and you, kind Baucis,” said the 
elder traveler, “you, indeed, gave a hearty welcome to the homeless 
strangers. You have done well, my dear old friends, and whatever 
wish you have most at heart will be granted.” 

Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then I do not 
know which spoke, but it seemed as if the voice came from them 
both. “Let us live together while we live, and let us die together, 
at the same time, for we have always loved one another.” 

“Be it so,” said the elder stranger, and he held out his hands as 
if to bless them. The old couple bent their heads and fell on their 
knees to thank him, and when they lifted their eyes again, neither 
Mercury nor his companion was to be seen. 

So Philemon and Baucis returned to the cottage, and to every 
traveler who passed that way they offered a drink of milk from the 
wonderful pitcher, and if the guest was a kind, gentle soul, he found 
the milk the sweetest and most refreshing he had ever tasted. But 
if a cross, bad-tempered fellow took even a sip, he found the pitcher 
full of sour milk, which made him twist his face with dislike and 
disappointment. 




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Baucis and Philemon lived a great, great many years and grew 
very old. And one summer morning when their friends came to 
share their breakfast, neither Baucis nor Philemon was to be found! 

The guests looked everywhere, but all in vain. Then suddenly 
one of them noticed two beautiful trees in the garden, just in front 
of the door. One was an oak tree and the other a linden tree, and 
their branches were twisted together so that they seemed to be em¬ 
bracing. 

No one had ever seen these trees before, and while they were all 
wondering how such fine trees could possibly have grown up in a 
single night, there came a gentle wind which set the branches mov¬ 
ing, and then a mysterious voice was heard coming from the oak 
tree. “I am old Philemon,” it said; and again another voice whis¬ 
pered, “And I am Baucis.” 

And the people knew that the good old couple would live for a 
hundred years or more in the heart of these lovely trees. And, oh, 
what a pleasant shade they flung around! Some kind soul built a 
seat under the branches, and whenever a traveler sat down to rest, 
he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves over his head, and he won¬ 
dered why it seemed to say, “Welcome, dear traveler, welcome.” 
















Myths and Legends 


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T ONG, long ago, when this old world was still very young, there 
' lived a child named Epimetheus. He had neither father nor 
mother, and to keep him company a little girl, who was fatherless and 
motherless like himself, was sent from a far country to live with him 
and be his playfellow. This child’s name was Pandora. 

The first thing that Pandora saw, when she came to the cottage 
where Epimetheus lived, was a great wooden box. “What have you 
in that box, Epimetheus?” she asked. 

“That is a secret,” answered Epimetheus, “and you must not ask 
any questions about it; the box was left here for safety, and I do not 
know what is in it.” 

“But who gave it to you?” asked Pandora, “and where did it 
come from?” 

“That is a secret, too,” answered Epimetheus. 

“How tiresome!” exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lips. “I wish 
the great ugly box were out of the way;” and she looked very cross. 

“Come along, and let us play games,” said Epimetheus; “do not 
let us think any more about it;” and they ran out to play with the 
other children, and for a little while Pandora forgot all about the 
box. 

But when she came back to the cottage, there it was in front of 





























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her, and instead of paying no heed to it, she began to say to herself: 
“Whatever can be inside it? I wish I just knew who brought it! 
Dear Epimetheus, do tell me; I know I cannot be happy till you 
tell me all about it.” 

Then Epimetheus grew a little angry. “How can I tell you, 
Pandora?” he said; “I do not know any more than you do.” 

“Well, you could open it,” said Pandora, “and we could see for 
ourselves!” 

But Epimetheus looked so shocked at the very idea of opening a 
box that had been given to him in trust, that Pandora saw she had 
better not suggest such a thing again. 

“At least you can tell me how it came here,” she said. 

“It was left at the door,” answered Epimetheus, “just before you 
came, by a queer person dressed in a very strange cloak; he had a 
cap that seemed to be partly made of feathers; it looked exactly as 
if he had wings.” 

“What kind of a staff had he?” asked Pandora. 

“Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw,” cried Epimetheus; “it 
seemed like two serpents twisted round a stick.” 

“I know him,” said Pandora, thoughtfully. “It was Mercury, 
and he brought me here as well as the box. I am sure he meant the 
box for me, and perhaps there are pretty clothes in it for us to 
wear, and toys for us both to play with.” 

“It may be so,” answered Epimetheus, turning away; “but until 
Mercury comes back and tells us that we may open it, neither of us 
has any right to lift the lid;” and he went out of the cottage. 

“What a stupid boy he is!” muttered Pandora; “I do wish he had 
a little more spirit.” Then she stood gazing at the box. She had 
called it ugly a hundred times, but it was really a very handsome 
box, and would have been an ornament in any room. 

It was made of beautiful dark wood, so dark and so highly pol¬ 
ished that Pandora could see her face in it. The edges and the cor¬ 
ners were wonderfully carved. On these were faces of lovely 
women and of the prettiest children, who semed to be playing among 



Myths and Legends 


223 


the leaves and the flowers. But the most beautiful face of all was one 
which had a wreath of flowers about its brow. All around it was 
the dark, smooth-polished wood, with this strange face looking out 
from it, and some days Pandora thought it was laughing at her, 
while at other times it had a very grave look which made her rather 
afraid. 

The box was not fastened with a lock and key like most boxes, 
but with a strange knot of gold cord. There never was a knot so 
queerly tied; it seemed to have no end and no beginning, but was 
twisted so cunningly, with so many ins and outs, that not even the 
cleverest fingers could undo it. 

Pandora began to examine the knot just to see how it was made. 
“I really believe,” she said to herself, “that I begin to see how it is 
done. I am sure I could tie it up again after undoing it. There 
could be no harm in that; I need not open the box even if I undo the 
knot.” And the longer she looked at it, the more she wanted just to try. 

So she took the gold cord in her fingers and examined it very 
closely. Then she raised her head, and happening to glance at the 
flower-wreathed face, she thought it was grinning at her. “I wonder 
whether it is smiling because I am doing wrong,” thought Pandora; 
“I have a good mind to leave the box alone and run away.” 

But just at that moment, as if by accident, she gave the knot a 
little shake, and the gold cord untwisted itself as if by magic, and 
there was the box without any fastening. 

“This is the strangest thing I have ever known,” said Pandora, 
rather frightened. “What will Epimetheus say? How can I pos¬ 
sibly tie it up again?” 

She tried once or twice, but the knot would not come right. It 
had untied itself so suddenly she could not remember in the least 
how the cord had been twisted together. So there was nothing to be 
done but to let the box remain unfastened until Epimetheus should 
come home. 

“But,” thought Pandora, “when he finds the knot untied he will 
know that I have done it; how shall I ever make him believe that I 



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have not looked into the box?” And then the naughty thought came 
into her head that, as Epimetheus would believe that she had looked 
into the box, she might just as well have a little peep. 

She looked at the face with the wreath, and it seemed to smile 
at her invitingly, as much as to say: “Do not be afraid; what harm 
can there possibly be in raising the lid for a moment?” And then 
she thought she heard voices inside, tiny voices, that whispered: 
“Let us out, dear Pandora, do let us out; we want very much to play 
with you, if you will only let us out.” 

“What can it be?” said Pandora. “Is there something alive in 
the box? Yes, I must just see, only one little peep, and the lid will 
be shut down as safely as ever. There cannot really be any harm 
in just one little peep.” 

All this time Epimetheus had been playing with the other chil¬ 
dren in the fields, but he did not feel happy. This was the first time 
he had played without Pandora, and he was so cross and discon¬ 
tented that the other children could not think what was the matter 
with him. You see, up to this time everybody in the world had al¬ 
ways been happy, no one had ever been ill, or naughty, or miserable; 
the world was new and beautiful, and the people who lived in it did 
not know what trouble meant. So Epimetheus could not understand 




































Myths and Legends 


225 


what was the matter with himself, and he stopped trying to play 
games and went back to Pandora. 

On the way home he gathered a bunch of lovely roses, and lilies, 
and orange-blossoms, and with these he made a wreath to give Pan¬ 
dora, who was very fond of flowers. He noticed there was a great 
black cloud in the sky, which was creeping nearer and nearer to the 
sun, and just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, the cloud went 
right over the sun and made everything look dark and sad. 

Epimetheus went in quietly, for he wanted to surprise Pandora 
with the wreath of flowers. And what do you think he saw? The 
naughty little girl had put her hand on the lid of the box and was 
just going to open it. Epimetheus saw this quite well, and if he had 
cried out at once, it would have given Pandora such a fright she 
would have let go the lid. But Epimetheus was very naughty, too. 
Although he had said very little about the box, he was just as curious 
as Pandora was to see what was inside. If they really found any¬ 
thing pretty or valuable in it, he meant to take half of it for himself; 
so that he was just as naughty, and nearly as much to blame, as his 
companion. 

When Pandora raised the lid, the cottage had grown very dark, 
for the black cloud now covered the sun entirely, and a heavy peal 
of thunder was heard. But Pandora was too busy and excited to 
notice this; she lifted the lid right up, and at once a swarm of 
creatures with wings flew out of the box, and a minute after she 
heard Epimetheus crying loudly: “Oh, I am stung, I am stungl 
You naughty Pandora, why did you open this wicked box?” 

Pandora let the lid fall with a crash and started up to find out 
what had happened to her playmate. The thunder-cloud had made 
the room so dark that she could scarcely see, but she heard a loud 
buzz-buzzing, as if a great many huge flies had flown in, and soon 
she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes darting about, with wings like 
bats and with terribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these 
that had stung Epimetheus, and it was not long before Pandora 
began to scream with pain and fear. An ugly little monster had set- 



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tied on her forehead, and would have stung her badly had not 
Epimetheus run forward and brushed it away. 

Now I must tell you that these ugly creatures with stings, which 
had escaped from the box, were the whole family of earthly troubles. 
There were evil tempers, and a great many kinds of cares; and there 
were more than a hundred and fifty sorrows, and there were diseases 
in many painful shapes. In fact, all the sorrows and worries that 
hurt people in the world to-day had been shut up in the magic-box, 
and given to Epimetheus and Pandora to keep safely, in order that 
the happy children in the world might never be troubled by them. 
If only these two had obeyed Mercury and had left the box alone as 
he had told them, all would have gone well. 

But you see what mischief they had done. The winged troubles 
flew out at the window and went all over the world; and they made 
people so unhappy that no one smiled for a great many days. It 
was very strange, too, that from this day flowers began to fade, and 
after a short time they died, whereas in the old times, before Pandora 
opened the box, they had been always fresh and beautiful. 

Meanwhile, Pandora and Epimetheus remained in the cottage; 
they were very miserable and in great pain, which made them both 
exceedingly cross. Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with 
his back to Pandora, while Pandora flung herself on the floor and 
cried bitterly, resting her head on the lid of the fatal box. 

Suddenly, she heard a gentle tap-tap inside. “What can that 
be?” said Pandora, raising her head; and again came the tap-tap. It 
sounded like the knuckles of a tiny hand knocking lightly on the 
inside of the box. 

“Who are you?” asked Pandora. 

A sweet little voice came from inside: “Only lift the lid and you 
will see.” 

But Pandora was afraid to lift the lid again. She looked across 
to Epimetheus, but he was so cross that he took no notice. Pandora 
sobbed: “No, no, I am afraid; there are so many troubles with 
stings flying about that we do not want any more.” 




Myths and Legends 


227 


“Ah, but I am not one of these,” the sweet voice said; “they are 
no relations of mine. Come, come dear Pandora, I am sure you will 
let me out.” 

The voice sounded so kind and cheery that it made Pandora feel 
better even to listen to it. Epimetheus, too, had heard the voice. 
He stopped crying. Then he came forward, and said: “Let me 
help you, Pandora, as the lid is very heavy.” 

So this time both the children opened the box, and out flew a 
bright, smiling little fairy, who brought light and sunshine with her. 
She flew to Epimetheus and with her finger touched his brow where 
the trouble had stung him, and immediately the pain was gone. 

Then she kissed Pandora, and her hurt was better at once. 

“Pray who are you, kind fairy?” Pandora asked. 

“I am; called Hope,” answered the sunshiny figure. “I was shut 
up in the box so that I might be ready to comfort people when the 
family of troubles got loose in the world.” 

“What lovely wings you have! They are just like a rainbow. 
And will you stay with us,” asked Epimethus, “for ever and ever?” 

“Yes,” said Hope, “I shall stay with you as long as you live. 
Sometimes you will not be able to see me, and you may think I am 
dead, but you will find that I come back again and again when you 
have given up expecting me, and you must always trust my promise 
that I will never really leave you.” 

“Yes, we do trust you,” cried both children. And all the rest 
of their lives when the troubles came back and buzzed about their 
heads and left bitter stings of pain, Pandora and Epimetheus would 
remember whose fault it was that the troubles had ever come into 
the world at all, and they would then wait patiently till the fairy 
with the rainbow wings came back to heal and comfort them. 















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The Star Wife 

I N the days when the buffalo raced and thundered over the earth 
and the stars danced and sang in the sky, a brave young hunter 
lived on the bank of Battle River. He was fond of the red flowers 
and the blue sky; and when the rest of the Indians went out to hunt 
in waist-cloths of skin he put on his fringed leggings all heavy 
with blue beads, and painted red rings and stripes on his face, till 
he was as gay as the earth and the sky himself. High-feather was 
his name, and he always wore a red swan’s feather on his head. 

One day, when High-feather was out with his bow and arrows, 
he came on a little beaten trail that he had never seen before, 
and he followed it,—but he found that it just went round and round 
and brought him back to where he had started. It came from 
nowhere, and it went to nowhere. 

“What sort of animal has made this?” he said. And he lay 
down in the middle of the ring to think, looking up into the blue 
sky. 

While he lay thinking, he saw a little speck up above him in 
the sky, and thought it was an eagle. But the speck got bigger, 
and sank down and down, till he saw it was a great basket coming 
down out of the sky. He jumped up and ran back to a little hollow 
and lay down to hide in a patch of tall red flowers. Then he peeped 
out and saw the basket come down to the earth and rest on the 














Myths and Legends 


229 


grass in the middle of the ring. Twelve beautiful maidens were 
leaning over the edge of the basket. They were not Indian maid¬ 
ens, for their faces were pink and white, and their long hair was 
bright red-brown like a fox’s fur, and their clothes were skyblue 
and floating light as cobwebs. 

The maidens jumped out of the basket and began to dance 
round and round the ring-trail, one behind the other, drumming 
with their fingers on little drums of eagle-skin, and singing such 
beautiful songs as High-feather had never heard. 

Then High-feather jumped up and ran towards the ring, cry¬ 
ing out, “Let me dance and sing with you!” 

The maidens were frightened, and ran to the basket and jumped 
in, and the basket flew up into the sky, and got smaller and smaller 
till he couldn’t see it at all. 

The young man went home to his wigwam, and his mother 
roasted buffalo meat for his dinner; but he couldn’t eat, and he 
couldn’t think of anything but the twelve beautiful maidens. His 
mother begged him to tell her what the matter was; and at last 
he told her, and said he would never be happy till he brought one 
of the maidens home to be his wife. 

“Those must be the Star-people,” said his mother, who was a 
great magician—the prairie was full of magic in those days, before 
the white men came and the buffalo went. “You’d better take an 
Indian girl for your wife. Don’t think any more of the Star-maid¬ 
ens, or you’ll have much trouble.” 

“I don’t care how much trouble I have, so long as I get a Star- 
maiden for my wife,” he said; “and I’m going to get one, if I have 
to wait till the world ends.” 

“If you must, you must,” said his mother. 

So next morning she sewed a bit of gopher’s fur onto his 
feather; and he ate a good breakfast of buffalo meat and tramped 
away over the prairie to the # dancing ring. As soon as he got into 
the ring he turned into a gopher; but there were no gophers’ holes 
there for him to hide in, so he just had to lie in the grass and wait. 



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Presently he saw a speck up in the sky, and the speck grew 
larger and larger till it became a basket, and the basket came down 
and down till it rested on the earth in the middle of the ring. 

The eldest maiden put her head over the edge and looked all 
round, north and east and south and west. 

“There’s no man here,” she said. So they all jumped out to 
have their dance. But before they got to the beaten ring the 
youngest maiden spied the gopher, and called out to her sisters to 
look at it. 

“Away! away!” cried the eldest maiden. “No gopher would 
dare to come on our dancing ground. It’s a conjurer in disguise!” 

So she grabbed her youngest sister by the arm and pulled her 
away to the basket, and they all jumped in and the basket went 
sailing up into the sky before High-feather could get out of his 
gopher skin or say a word. 

The young man went home very miserable; but when his mother 
heard what had happened she said, “It is a hard thing you want 
to do; but if you must, you must. Tonight I will make some fresh 
magic, and you can try again tomorrow.” 

Next morning High-feather asked for his breakfast; but his 
mother said, “You mustn’t have any buffalo meat, or it will spoil 
the magic. You mustn’t eat anything but the wild strawberries 
you find on the prairie as you go.” 

Then she sewed a little bit of a mouse’s whisker on to his red 
feather; and he tramped away across the prairie, picking wild 
strawberries and eating them as he went, till he came to the dancing 
ring. As soon as he got inside the ring he turned into a little 
mouse, and made friends with the family of mice that lived in a 
hole under the grass; and the mother mouse promised to help him 
all she could. 

They hadn’t waited long when the basket came dropping down 
out of the sky. The eldest sister put her head over the edge, and 
looked all round, north and west and south and east and down on 
the ground. 




Myths and Legends 


231 



“There’s no man here,” she said, “and I don’t see any gopher; 
but you must be very careful.” 

So they all got out of the basket, and began to dance round the 
ring, drumming and singing as they went. But when they came 
near the mouse’s nest the eldest sister held up her hand, and they 
stopped dancing and held their breath. Then she tapped on the 
ground and listened. 

“It doesn’t sound so hollow as it did,” she said. “The mice 
have got a visitor.” And she tapped again, and called out, “Come 
and show yourselves, you little traitors, or we’ll dig you up!” 

But the mother mouse had made another door to her nest just 
outside the ring, working very fast with all her toes; and while 
the maidens were looking for her inside the ring she came out at 
the other door with all her children and scampered away across 
the prairie. 

The maidens turned round and ran after them; all but the 
youngest sister, who didn’t want someone to be killed; and High- 
feather came out of the hole and turned himself into what he was, 
and caught her by the arms. 

“Come home and marry me,” he said, “and dance with the 
Indian maidens; and I will hunt for you, and my mother will cook 
for you, and you will be much happier than up in the sky.” 

Her sisters came rushing round her, and begged her to come 
back home to the sky with them; but she looked into the young 






















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man’s eyes, and said she would go with him wherever he went. So 
the other maidens went weeping and wailing up into the sky, and 
High-feather took his Star-wife home to his tent on the bank of 
the Battle River. 

High-feather’s mother was glad to see them both; but she whis¬ 
pered in his ear, “You must never let her out of your sight if 
you want to keep her; you must take her with you everywhere you 
go.” 

So he did. He took her with him every time he went hunting, 
and he made her a bow and arrows, only she would never use 
them; she would pick wild strawberries and gooseberries and rasp¬ 
berries while they went along, but she would never kill anything; 
and she would never eat anything that anyone else had killed. She 
only ate berries and crushed corn. 

One day, while the young man’s wife was embroidering feather 
stars on a dancing-cloth, and his mother was out gossiping in a tent 
at the end of the village, a little yellow bird flew in and perched 
on High-feather’s shoulder, and whispered in his ear: 

“There’s a great flock of wild red swans just over on Loon 
Lake. If you come quickly and quietly you can catch them before 
they fly away; but don’t tell your wife, for red swans can’t bear 
the sight of a woman, and they can tell if one comes within a mile 
of them.” 

High-feather had never seen or heard of a red swan before; 
all the red feathers he wore he had had to paint. He looked at 
his wife, and as she was sewing busily and looking down at her 
star embroidering he thought he could slip away and get back 
before she knew he had gone. But as soon as he was out of sight 
the little yellow bird flew in and perched on her shoulder, and sang 
her such a beautiful song about her sisters in the sky that she for¬ 
got everything else and slipped out and ran like the wind, and got 
to the dancing ring just as her sisters came down in their basket. 
They all gathered round her, and begged her to come home with 
them. 




Myths and Legends 


233 


But she only said, “High-feather is a brave man, and he is 
very good to me, and I will never leave him.” 

When they saw they couldn’t make her leave her husband, the 
eldest sister said, “If you must stay, you must. But just come 
up for an hour, to let your father see you, because he has been 
mourning for you ever since you went away.” 

The Star-wife didn’t want to go, but she wanted to see her 
father once more, so she got into the basket and it sailed away up 
into the sky. Her father was very glad to see her, and she was very 
glad to see him, and they talked and they talked till the blue sky was 
getting grey. Then she remembered that she ought to have gone 
home long before. 

“Now I must go back to my husband,” she said. 

“That you shall never do!” said her father. And he shut her 
up in a white cloud and said she should stay there till she prom¬ 
ised never to go back to the prairie. She begged to be let out, but 
it was no use. Then she began to weep; and she wept so much 
that the cloud began to weep too, and it was weeping itself right 
away. So her father saw she would go down to the earth in rain 
if he kept her in the cloud any longer, and he let her out. 

“What must I do for you,” he said, “to make you stay with us 
here and be happy?” 

“I will not stay here,” said she, “unless my husband comes and 
lives here too.” 

“I will send for him at once,” said her father. So he sent the 
basket down empty, and it rested in the middle of the dancing ring. 

Now when High-feather got to Loon Lake he found it covered 
with red swans. He shot two with one arrow, and then all the 
rest flew away. He picked up the two swans and hurried back 
to his tent, and there lay the dancing-cloth with the feather stars 
on it half-finished, but no wife could he see. He called her, but 
she did not answer. He rushed out, with the two red swans still 
slung round his neck and hanging down his back, and ran to the 
dancing ring, but nobody was there. 




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“I shall wait till she comes back,” he said to himself, 
“if I have to wait till the world ends.” So he threw himself down 
on the grass and lay looking up at the stars till he went to sleep. 

Early in the morning he heard a rustling on the grass, and when 
he opened his eyes he saw the great basket close beside him. He 
jumped up, with the two red swans still slung round his neck, and 
climbed into the basket. There was nobody there; and when he 
began to climb out again he found that the basket was half way 
up to the sky. It went up and up, and at last it came into the Star- 
country, where his wife was waiting for him. Her father gave 
them a beautiful blue tent to live in, and High-feather was happy 
enough for a while; but he soon got tired of the cloud-berries that 
the Star-people ate, and he longed to tramp over the solid green 
prairie, so he asked his wife’s father to let him take her back to 
the earth. 

“No,” said the Star-man, “because then I should never see her 
again. If you stay with us you will soon forget the dull old earth.” 

The young man said nothing! but he put on the wings of one 
of the red swans, and he put the other red swan’s wings on his wife, 
and they leapt over the edge of the star-country and flew down 
through the air to the prairie, and came to the tent where High- 
feather’s mother was mourning for them; and there was a great 
feast in the village because they had come back safe and sound. 


























Myths and Legends 


235 



The fegend of Saint (Christopher 

Tj' AR away and long ago, there lived a man named Offerus, which 
means the Bearer. Offerus was of such great size and strength 
that to most people he seemed a giant, and they were afraid of him, 
but to little children he seemed like a great, friendly tree, under 
whose shadow they played. Offerus was proud of his strength, and 
as he grew older he realized that there was no one as strong as he. 
So he made up his mind that since he was the strongest man in the 
world it was only right that he should serve the greatest king in the 
world, and he made a vow, saying: 

“I, Offerus, do swear to be a servant to none save the greatest of 
all kings, and him will I serve faithfully all the days of my life.” 

Then he set off forthwith to find this wisest and most powerful of 
rulers. He asked of the people: 

“Tell me now, what king do you think is wiser than any other 
king on earth?” And the people sent him to the ruler they thought 
most wise. 

Offerus served this king for several years and learned many 
things that made him very happy. It was a great country, where 
people lived simply, worked hard, read diligently and thought great 
thoughts. Presently, Offerus discovered that these people were not 
as happy as he had imagined they were. They were afraid; even the 
king was afraid. So one day Offerus said to him: 

“Whom do you fear? Tell me, that I may kill him.” 

“Alas!” said the king, “I fear a great war lord who wages battle 
upon my people every few years, and the time is drawing near for 
him to attack us.” 
















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“But, why do you do nothing to prevent him?” asked Offerus. 

“No one can prevent him; he is the most powerful ruler in the 
world.” 

“I do not believe you,” said Offerus; “you could prevent him, but 
since you are afraid and will not try, I must leave you and serve your 
enemy; for I have sworn to serve none save the greatest of kings.” 

Sorrowfully, Offerus set off to find this king of battles. He was, 
indeed, a powerful monarch, strong, cruel and terrible. Offerus’ 
services were gladly accepted, and now there was need for all his 
strength. He fought in many battles, and his heart was sick to serve 
so bloody a master, but because of his vow he had to remain. It 
seemed to Offerus that this king must indeed be the most powerful 
monarch in the world, for no people could stand up against him, and 
he ruled by terror and bloodshed, throughout the land. 

These were hard days for Offerus, and his heart was heavy within 
him. He wondered if his great strength would be used always for 
killing. Then, one day, his master, the War Lord, was wounded, 
and a great fear came upon him. 

“Of whom are you afraid?” asked Offerus, eagerly. 

The king shivered. “I am afraid of the Evil One,” he said. 

“But why?” 

“Because, he has great power; he rules the whole world, I am 
told.” 

“What!” said Offerus. “I have served you all these years, be¬ 
lieving you to be the greatest of all kings, and now you tell me the 
evil one is greater than you. Where is this dark ruler of the world? 
I must find him, for I have sworn to serve none but the greatest.” 

“Offerus set off at once, and he walked a weary way until he came 
to the world’s end. There on a great stone he saw the Evil One. 

“Do you rule the world?” asked Offerus. 

“So they say!” answered the Prince of Darkness. 

“Then I will serve you,” said Offerus, “for so I have sworn.” But 
his heart was very sorrowful because of his vow. 

Those were terrible days that followed. His new master ordered 



Myths and Legends 


237 



him to do many dreadful deeds, and Ofiferus would have given his 
life to be able to take back his oath, but he could not. 

One day Ofiferus and the Evil One were riding on some errand 
of wickedness, when suddenly they came upon a little wooden cross 
by the roadside. Instantly the Evil One trembled and turned back. 

“Why are you afraid of that cross?” asked Ofiferus. 

“Because of Him whose sign it is!” answered the King of Dark¬ 
ness. 

“And why do you fear Him?” 

“Because He is winning my followers away from me, and they 
say He is greater than I.” 

Ofiferus’ heart leaped with joy and relief. 

“What is His name?” he asked. 

“I dare not say it,” whispered the Evil One, fearfully, “but some 
call Him the Prince of Peace and some the King of Love. His real 
name I dare not say.” 

“It is enough,” said Ofiferus. “I leave you to find this King of 
Love; for I have sworn to serve only the greatest of all kings, and 
you are not that one.” 

And Ofiferus left his evil master with a lighter heart than he had 
known in a long time. 



























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Now when he had traveled far away from the abode of the Evil 
One, he met a gentle old hermit reading a book. 

“Good-day, friend Hermit!” said Offerus. 

“Good-day, brother, and peace be with you,” answered the hermit. 

“Perhaps, since you mention peace, perhaps you can tell me this. 
Who is He who is called the Prince of Peace?” 

The hermit smiled kindly at Offerus. 

“Sit down, my brother, for I was reading even now in this little 
book the story of Jesus, the Christ, whom they call the Prince of 
Peace and King of Love.” 

Then the Hermit told Offerus the story of the Christ, and he told 
it again and again for many days, until Offerus knew it by heart. 
This poor man of strength wept, one day, and said to the hermit: 

“Think of it, it is this Prince of Peace and King of Love I should 
have been serving all these years, and instead I have made wars and 
done evil all my days because of my vow! What can I do now to 
serve the Christ? I am very strong; shall I kill his enemies?” 

“No,” said the hermit, “you have done with killing; now you 
must help; only so will you be pleasing to your new King, who rules 
by love.” 

Then the hermit took Offerus to the bank of a swift river. 

“Here,” he said, “is your first service to your new Master. Many 
people must cross this stream and because of its swift current and 
jagged rocks boats are wrecked when there is a storm, and the people 
perish. Here you must dwell on the banks of this river and use your 
great strength to rescue the people who would otherwise drown.” 

Then the old hermit gave Offerus a stout staff and blessed him in 
his new work, and left him there. Offerus built himself a little hut 
near the river bank, and there he lived. After he came no one ever 
perished in that treacherous river, and people praised Offerus for his 
bravery, but Offerus would sigh and say: 

“Alas! there is only a little time left me to serve Plim who rules 
this whole world; I must do all that I can.” 

People said there was never a night so black or a storm so terri- 



Myths and Legends 


239 



ble that Offerus would not plunge into the stream at the first cry for 
help, and everyone loved him. Offerus loved the people, too, but es¬ 
pecially the children, who used to sit beside him on the bench out¬ 
side his door or play around his little hut all day. As time passed 
Offerus grew to be an old man, but, strangely enough, his strength 
was as great as ever, and he spared himself no hardships or fatigue. 

One Christmas Eve Offerus looked up at the sky and saw clouds 
gathering. The wind was beginning to blow, and it was ice-cold 
without. Already the river was showing the white foam of water 
lashed by the winter wind. 

“Surely,” thought Offerus, “surely no one will try to cross the 
river to-night. No boat could keep afloat in such a storm as this is 
going to be.” 

Then he went into his house and laid down. He must have fallen 
asleep, for suddenly he was awakened by the wind that was moaning 
and howling round his little hut. Yet Offerus felt sure he had heard 
something more than the wind. He listened, and above the noise of 
wind and waves he caught a faint cry, “Offerus! Offerus!” 

Offerus leaped to his feet, seized his lantern and his trusty staff, 




















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and ran to the river bank. The cry came again, “Offerus! Offerus!” 

The old man peered down into the black, foam-flecked waters, 
and at last caught a glimpse of a child, struggling with the waves. 
Offerus plunged into the river and reached the child. He put him 
on his back and started for the shore. 

“Hold tightly to me, little one,” said Offerus, and steadied him¬ 
self with his staff, for he was wading now, but though he was near 
the shore he could scarcely stand. The current was swift, the waves 
high, and the child on his back grew heavier and heavier. Offerus 
struggled on, but his knees shook beneath him. Several times he 
staggered and almost fell. The burden of the child grew unbear¬ 
able; it seemed to Offerus he was carrying the whole world on his 
shoulders. Bent almost double, struggling and exhausted, Offerus 
staggered up the bank and lifted the child gently to the ground. The 
light from his door fell upon the child, and Offerus looked into two 
shining eyes that filled him with a strange gladness. He knelt be¬ 
fore the little one tenderly, and then he cried out: 

“Why, who has dared to hurt you? There are wounds in your 
hands and feet. Tell me who has dared to hurt you, that I may kill 
him.” 

“Peace, peace, Offerus,” said the child’s clear voice, “those are 
but the marks of love.” 

“Who are you?” whispered Offerus, and hid his face. 

“I am He whom you serve—the Prince of Peace, the King of 
Love. I have accepted you as my good and faithful servant, and this 
is a sign to you that all is well w>th you. Christ-Offerus you shall be 
called because of this night.” 

Then there was deep silence, even the wind and the waves were 

still, and when Offerus lifted his eyes he was alone by the river. He 

rose to his feet and picked up his staff. It had blossomed with little 

* 

leaves and flowers. From that night on Offerus was called 
Christopher, or Christ-bearer, and he served his King to the last day 
of his life. 


—May Hill. 

























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Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

Oh! don’t you wish that you were me? 

You have seen the scarlet trees 
And the lions over seas; 

You have eaten ostrich eggs, 

And turned the turtles off their legs. 



Such a life is very fine, 

But it’s not so nice as mine: 

You must often, as you trod, 

Have wearied not to be abroad. 

You have curious things to eat, 

I am fed on proper meat; 

You must dwell beyond the foam. 

But I am safe and live at home. 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japanee, 

Oh! don’t you wish that you were me? 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 































Travels in Foreign Lands 


243 


Summer and Winter Sports with the 
Qhildren of Uforway 

N ORWEGIAN children are a hardy, out-of-door race, 
in spite of the cold climate in which they live. The 
winters are long and bitterly cold throughout Norway, and 
in some of the little villages on the coast the mountains shhut 
out the sun for months at a time. The children d onot seem to mind 
this. They dress warmly and lay out-of-doors, just as if it were not 
dark and cold. They skate and toboggan and begin very young to 
ractice with skis; for evreybody hopes when he is old enough that he 
may be able to take part in Holmenkol Day. 

This comes in February, and it is the climax of the skiing season. 
On this day all the men and boys who think they are skilful enough 
with their skis to enter the ski-jumping contest, journey to Holmenkol 
Hill. It is a great sight. A crowd gathers at the foot of the hill; 
whole families are bundled into sleighs lined with straw and piled 
with robes; others come on foot, and everywhere you see bright-col¬ 
ored caps and scarfs until the snow-clad valley glows with color. The 
ski-jumpers are at the top of the great hill, looking very small and far 
away. Children look up at them and catch their breath, wondering 
how any man will dare take so fearful a jump. 

Presently, a man announces the beginning of the contest, and 
the first ski-jumper stands for an instant, looking black and slender 
against the gray sky. Then he bends forward as he starts, bending 
lower and lower as he gains speed on that steep descent. His body 
is tense, his shoulders seem almost to touch his knees, until he comes 
up the little incline to the jump. Instantly his body straightens, 
he stands erect with outspread arms, and then down he swoops, like 
a great black bird, down that tremendous drop to the valley below. 

The crowd holds its breath, the jumper strikes the icy ground, 
wavers for an instant, regains his balance, and like a slender black 
swallow, flashes down the icy runway without a quiver. 





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“A perfect jump!” shout the people, and the children dance up 
and down and scream with excitement. Everybody is longing for 
the day when the people shall call out his name as one of the 
famous ski-jumpers of Holmenkol Hill. 

In summer, the children enjoy another kind of out-of-door life. 
Because the sun’s rays fall longest upon the mountains, the best 
pasture land lies high above the valleys where the people dwell. 
In summer, therefore, the peasants take their families and cattle up 
into the high meadows to a kind of mountain dairy which they call 
the Saeter. There they pasture their cattle and make their butter 
and cheeses. The time for going depends upon the weather, but 
they like to spend June twenty-fourth, St. John’s day, in the moun¬ 
tains, if possible. 

The people start from the village in a processional, headed by 
the milkmaids. These girls are skilful makers of butter and many 
kinds of cheese, and there is great rivalry among them to see who 
can make the most delicious butter or the finest cheese. After the 
milkmaids come the goats and cattle, with their drivers, then the 
wagons laden with household necessities, and last of all, the mothers 
and children, talking and laughing together as they climb the steep 
mountain roads. They are prepared to stay as long as the weather 
permits, and for the children it is a summer’s outing more delightful 
than any camping trip. 

During the day, the little girls help the milkmaids with the 
dairy work, or learn crocheting, knitting and sewing from their 
skilful mothers. The boys help the men herd the cattle and goats 
on the upland pastures and bring them home in the late afternoons. 
At night, when all the work is over, comes the playtime for children 
and grown-ups alike. Everyone gathers round a smooth, level bit 
of green, and the country dances begin. If there is a violinist or a 
player of the accordion in the group, his music adds greatly to the 
jollity of the dancing, but if there is no musical instrument, no one 
minds, because everyone can sing as well as dance. Young and old 
take part in these evenings of merrymaking. The voices peal out 





Travels in Foreign Lands 


24 5 



clear and strong, and the dancers step gaily to the rollicking tunes 
of the old country dances. If there are musicians present they fiddle 
and pump their accordions until everyone is breathless with sing¬ 
ing and dancing, and glad enough to rest for a while. 

Then, when everyone is quiet and twilight settles over the valleys, 
perhaps an old story-teller will begin her tale. Some of the stories 
in this book have been told by these old women, summer evenings 
out of doors. It is a great hour for the children. They hear about 
the elves and trolls, the old witch wives and the Frost Giants, and 
they creep close to their mother’s knees and shiver with excite¬ 
ment when Boots goes forth alone to slay “The Giant who has no 
heart in his body.” Then, when the old story-teller ends: “So, 
Boots got the princess for his bride, and half the kingdom into the 
bargain,” the children cry: 

“Oh Anna, that was a good tale; tell it again.” 

But the mothers say: 

“No, no, it is too late for children to be hearing more tales. No 
more until to-morrow night. Now for bed!” 

Then the sleepy children protest that they are not sleepy, just 
as all children do the world over, and the wise mothers smile and 
carry them off to bed, just as all wise mothers do the world over. 
The children stretch themselves drowsily in their beds and fall asleep 
wondering which is more glorious, Holmenkol Hill in winter, or 
summer evenings on the Saeter. — May Hill. 












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Indians 

Foreign Travel In Our Own Land 

M ANY years ago, when the Western states of America were still 
sparsely settled, there was a little girl named Martha Ann, 
whose family moved from a large city to a lonely farm in one of these 
pioneer states. It was a great change for Martha Ann, and as she 
was a timid little girl, this new, wild country frightened her. She 
felt as if she were in a foreign land. Gradually she became used 
to the farm and learned to enjoy the little lambs and calves and 
the fluffy chicks and goslings, but she was afraid of the woods, and 
never went very far from the house. She sometimes heard her father 
speak of an Indian settlement, several miles from them, and Martha 
Ann thought of all the tales in her little history of America and 
dreamed fearful dreams of Indian war dances and battle cries. Her 
father laughed at her fears, and told her she ought to have a little 
Indian girl to play with. Martha Ann thought this was a fearful 
idea. 

One day, she had been picking some wild flowers on the edge 
of the woods, and seeing some lovelier ones just a little farther on 
she had ventured so far into the forest that she was out of sight of 
her house for the first time since she had come to the farm. Sud¬ 
denly, she heard curious sounds; there was the sharp barking of 
dogs, then a tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of small bells. People were com¬ 
ing through the woods. Martha Ann knew they were very near; 
so, in great fright, she hid in a clump of bushes and waited. 

The bells tinkled prettily, sounding nearer and nearer; two yel¬ 
low dogs scampered by, and after them came a strange procession. 
Tall brown men, with black hair and feathers on their heads, stalked 
past, wrapped in bright-colored blankets, with moccasins on their 
feet. After them came ponies wearing the little bells which Martha 
Ann had heard, and loaded dowfri with blankets and curious look¬ 
ing bundles; straight brown boys and girls, stepping noiselessly in 



Travels in Foreign Lands 


247 


their beaded moccasins, guided the ponies. Last of all came the 
small children and the women, with babies strapped to their backs, 
or else bearing burdens that looked as heavy as those on the ponies’ 
backs. Martha knew by their red-brown faces, their beads and 
feathers, that these people were Indians. She was too frightened to 
move. She lay there without making a sound until the last of the 
procession had passed her. 

They were going straight towards her house. After they were 
out of the forest, Martha came from her hiding place and started 
softly towards her house, taking a different path, keeping out of 
sight of the Indians and running as fast as her legs could carry her. 
The Indians were so heavily laden that they traveled slowly; so 
Martha was able to reach the house before them. She burst in upon 
her mother in a great state of excitement. 

“Mother,” she cried, “the Indians are coming.” 

“Well, well,” said her mother, “how lucky it is I have just finished 
baking, “I can give them some nice hot gingerbread.” 

“But mother, I said Indians. Maybe they’ll scalp us!” 

“Nonsense, Martha Ann,” laughed her mother. “These Indians 
are our nearest neighbors and are poor, hard working people, I 
hear, very like ourselves.” 

The bells were tinkling at the gate now. 

“I don’t care, mother, they wear blankets and feathers, and 
maybe they carry bows and arrows,” cried Martha Ann, and dived 
behind a big chair for safety, but she peeked out to see what happened. 

Her mother opened the door, and Martha could see her father 
in the yard, shaking hands with the leader of the procession. The 
big Indian Chief was smiling in a friendly fashion and pointing 
to his people. He understood little English, but Martha Ann’s 
father made him understand that they were to sit down under the 
trees and rest. The Chief spoke to his people, and in a few minutes 
the ponies w / ere unloaded and grazing in the meadow, and the 
Indians were all squatted peacefully under the trees in the pleasant 
yard. 



248 


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Martha Ann’s mother came from the house, bearing plates of 
hot gingerbread and pitchers of milk. The Indian men grunted 
their thanks, and the women smiled. Presently Martha screwed up 
enough courage to follow her mother, and they went to and fro 
among the Indians with fresh supplies of their tempting food, but 
Martha kept close to her mother’s skirts. One Indian woman showed 
her a little papoose strapped to a board, with bent willow branches 
making a covering over the head. This headpiece was ornamented 
with beads and hung with bells to amuse the papoose, and the tiny 
brown face smiled out of its little nest sleepily at Martha. 

“Oh you darling baby!” cried Martha, patting its soft cheeks 
and forgetting her fears. 

“You nice girl, too!” said the Indian mother suddenly. “What 
name?” 

“Martha Ann, and what is your baby named?” 

“Warca Ziwin,” said the Indian, smiling. “Warca Ziwin—you 
call Sunflower!” 

“Oh what a lovely name for a baby, Warca Ziwin, Sunflower 1 
I shall name my doll Warca Ziwin for your papoose,” said Martha, 
and the Indian mother patted her. 

“You nice girl, too!” she said again. 

The Indian children had gathered round Martha and the pa¬ 
poose. One little girl took off a 
string of beads and hung them 
round Martha’s neck. 

“Oh how beautiful! Thank 
you,” said Martha, and then she 
ran into the house. Her mother 
thought her fears had returned, 
but presently Martha came back, 
and in her apron she was carry¬ 
ing some of her favorite toys. She 
had a little gift for each Indian 
child, and you should have seen 




















Travels in Foreign Lands 


249 



their black eyes shine and their faces beam as Martha distributed 
her gifts. The Indian men and women looked kindly at the little 
girl, but presently the Indian Chief gave the signal to depart. In¬ 
stantly, all was bustle and confusion. The ponies were reloaded, 
the women picked up their heavy burdens, the children got the 
ponies into line, the men took their places at the head of the proces¬ 
sion, and the dogs ran barking and yapping ahead. 

The old Chief took Martha’s father by the hand and thanked him 
in broken English for the rest and refreshment he had given them. 
Then he spoke to his people and their march was resumed. Martha 
watched the queer procession until it disappeared down the road 
and the last sound of tinkling bells died away. Then she turned 
to her mother: 

“Wasn’t that a darling little papoose? Why, mother I am not 
afraid of Indians, am I?” —May Hill. 

















































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Festivals Japanese Qhildren Jove 

J APANESE children are fortunate in belonging to a country that 

loves festivals and celebrates many of them throughout the year. 
The children have some part in all of these days of merrymaking, 
and have, besides, one special festival all their own, which little 
girls of other countries must envy them. 

The Japanese do not keep Christmas as a national holiday, but 
they do observe New Year’s. On this day the doorways of all the 
houses are beautifully decorated, and the flowers or boughs, ar¬ 
ranged over the doors, mean something. The pine means long life, 
and is most frequently used. The next favorite, perhaps, is the bam¬ 
boo, which stands for uprightness, and a grass rope is frequently 
used, which is supposed to keep out evil. Interesting as are these 
decorations, the children love best of all the miles of little shops 
that are erected temporarily on New Year’s Eve. These shops are 
gay with banners, bright with flowers, filled with delightful wares, 
and over all the huge paper lanterns swing gaily. There are won¬ 
derful toys for sale in these little stalls; brightly painted drums of 
different sizes; carved animals; gorgeous kites; Tombo, the dragon¬ 
fly, so made that it can dart here and there; O-Sarie, the Honor¬ 
able Monkey that can climb a stick, and many other marvels, too 
numerous to describe. 

Another holiday that all Japan loves is the Festival of the Cherry 
Blossoms, which comes, not on a certain date, but whenever the 
flowering cherry trees bloom. The people watch them carefully in 
the early spring, wonder and discuss the time of the probable bloom¬ 
ing, and then, when the trees finally flower, everyone pours out-of- 
doors to see them, and the festival begins. Men, women and children, 
young and old, betake themselves to the places made lovely by these 
pink, blossoming trees. Little girls and young mothers are there, 
with babies fastened to their backs by their obis, and even the babies 
smile as the pink and white petals fall on their upturned faces. 
Sometimes, people write little verses to their loved ones and hang 



Travels in Foreign Lands 


251 


them on the trees. These verses are beautifully decorated, and bear 
such names as Honorable Miss Plum Blossom, Closely-Dear, Child- 
of-luck. All day long families walk under the rosy cloud of cherry 
blossoms, or sit in the little tea houses, looking at those fairy-like 
trees, while they sip tea and eat little rice cakes or delicious sweet¬ 
meats. In some places, where the cherry trees line the banks of 
canals or rivers, the people take boats and float down the stream 
to enjoy the double beauty of the cloudy pink trees overhead and 
the reflection of them in the water beneath. These are delightful 
days for the children. 

So, every Japanese fete has its interest for the children, but 
March third is their very own festival. This is O-Hina, the Festival 
of the Dolls. Dolls are kept in Japanese families from one genera¬ 
tion to another. They are treated most respectfully and handled 
carefully, and so most little girls have not only their own dolls but 
dolls that belonged to their mothers and their grandmothers. A 
month before the festival of O-Hina, or O’Hina-San, Honorable 
Miss Doll, the children unpack the old dolls that have been care¬ 
fully put away throughout the year, and possibly their parents 
may buy a charming new Miss Doll to add to the collection. Then 
there is the doll furniture to be arranged so that the dolls may sit 
in state, have tiny tables and dishes of their own, and perhaps even 
their own toy dogs and cats to play with. 

The collection of dolls, together with all the doll furniture and 
toys, is then arranged in a special place with the most thoughtful 
and painstaking care. Honorable Miss Doll herself is beautifully 
costumed and has her hair curled and dressed in the most compli¬ 
cated way. When she is ready, the tables are set with small dishes 
and delicious little cakes and sweets, in fact, everything that dolls 
and children enjoy. Then the children and the honorable dolls 
receive their friends and all agree that this is the most delightful 
festival of the year. 

This Festival of the Dolls is over a thousand years old, and yet 
no two of these dolls are ever alike. Honorable Miss Hina has 




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only a stick for a body, but her head, with its elaborately dressed 
hair and charming face, and her clothes, are works of art. She is 
always dressed to look like a Japanese bride, and her face, with its 
soft, curving cheeks, demure smile and brown slanting eyes, looks like 
some pretty Japanese girl you have seen on the streets. Her clothes 
are rich and costly as a family can afford, but the children of the 
poor have very pretty O-Hina-San, even though they cost but little. 
The children love them just as well as the expensive ones; indeed, 
they say in Japan, that if children love a doll enough, it may come 
alive. That means, of course, that a new doll is only a doll, but 
after Honorable Miss San has been loved by a little girl, and then 
by her little girl, and then by that little girl’s little girl, why then 
perhaps Honorable Miss San may lift her downcast eyes and live. 
Perhaps, if American children loved their dolls as long and as care¬ 
fully as the Japanese children love O-Hina-San, their dolls might 
come to life too, who knows? 


—May Hill. 




























Travels in Foreign Lands 


253 


When fit tie Hoys Qome of Olge in Siam 

ANGKOK, the capital of Siam, is a city much like 
Venice, being built with water-ways instead of 
streets. Hundreds of its inhabitants live in boats 
or floating houses, and there are floating theaters 
and floating restaurants, besides. Naturally, 
everyone learns to swim. Siamese parents have 
a simple way of teaching this art to their children. 
They fasten them to a tin float and toss them over¬ 
board. Once in the water, in no danger of sinking, the babies soon 
learn to paddle, and as they grow older, become expert swimmers. 

The children of Siam are pretty babies, with broad, smiling faces 
and twinkling black eyes. When they are a few weeks old all the hair 
is shaved off their heads, except a little tuft that is left in the center. 
This top knot is kept oiled, and is always a matter of pride with them. 
Parting with this cherished bit of hair marks the boy’s coming of 
age—an important day, observed with great ceremony. 

When a boy is about fourteen years old, the parents consult some 
wise man in the community, and he chooses a lucky day for cutting 
the tuft of hair, grown, perhaps, a foot long. Friends are invited 
for this day, priests and musicians are summoned, and a great feast is 
made. The priests sit on the ground, chanting and playing to keep 
the evil spirits away. Then the priests hold a white thread in their 
hands which they pass to the little boy, believing that good luck and 
blessings will pass from them to the lad by way of the white thread. 
The barber is, of course, the most important person present on this 
occasion, and presently, when the proper time comes, he steps for¬ 
ward and cuts off the tuft of hair. The boy is then robed in white, 
and all the guests march past him, sprinkling his head with holy 
water. With the loss of his tuft of hair, the Siamese boy leaves his 
childhood behind him. He is of age now—a man at fourteen! 

—May Hill. 












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^Marietta of Italy 

M ARIETTA has a long way to come to school every day, for she 
lives up a beautiful valley in the Apennines. Also, she has to 
do all sorts of things before she can start from home. She and En¬ 
rico are up at dawn gathering fagots for their mother, getting fod¬ 
der for the cows, and looking after the sheep. They guess the time 
by looking at the sun over the chestnut-trees, or they see Beppino 
starting off down below, and know that he has heard the bell. 

Torrents, often swollen with the rain, have to be crossed, but 
their bare feet do not mind the cold water, and here they can some¬ 
times give their faces the wash which was omitted before the start. 
In some shady corner of a rocky gorge a lump of ice may be picked 
up even at the beginning of summer, and then the face-washing can 
be done as they run along. 

Finding their way through the woods, they get to the village at 
last—a few houses, a church and a schoolhouse nestling down in a 
tiny valley, between the olive and the chestnut trees. 

Perhaps they are a little late, but the Signora Maestra (as they 
call their teacher) is sweet and kind, and knows how far the little 
feet have travelled, so she does not always look at the clock when she 
hears them shuffling into the ante-room. 

Marietta fell asleep one morning—she had been up very early— 
and the Maestra only put the little head more comfortably on the 
folded arms and left her, while she looked after the other seventy 
children who were crowded into the bare room. 

Rich and poor go to the same school in the village; only it hap¬ 
pens that the ones they call rich are not so very rich after all. Per¬ 
haps they live in some big castle with a moat round it, but they have 
little money to spend. 

Marietta and Enrico at home speak in words that are somewhat 
different from real Italian, but the Signora Maestra teaches them to 
speak and read the pure language she speaks herself; and, indeed, 
Marietta can recite whole verses of Dante in a lovely voice, while 



Travels in Foreign Lands 


255 


with her hands and face she makes it all seem quite real. As for 
Enrico, he has always been specially interested in the Maestra’s 
wires of nuts which she has made to teach them arithmetic. 

When Marietta and Enrico get home later in the day, they will 
have to work on the farm, but there will be time for a game with the 
younger ones while the cows look for grass among the rocks and 
irises. 

There are many families living higher up the valley, where the 
children cannot be spared for the long day at the village school. It 
is just during the daylight hours that they are wanted at home, but 
in the evening they go of! to an old shoemaker, who by the light of a 
candle teaches them to read and write and to do a few sums. They 
do their lessons with some difficulty, for there is little furniture in 
their kitchen. The floor has to form the usual seat, while one at a 
time they will labor over writing an exercise on the wooden bench. 

One of Marietta’s duties is to help in drying the chestnuts. 
They are first beaten out of their prickly cases, and put on laths 
across the rafters of a small inner room. A fire is lighted in the 
middle of the room, and, as there is no chimney, all its heat and 
smoke go to season the chestnuts. When they are quite dry Enrico 
takes them of! to the mill and brings back the fine, sweet flour. 

Marietta bakes little cakes of this chestnut-flour by mixing it 
with a little water and baking it in the wood-ashes in terra-cotta 
molds. She is careful to put a chestnut-leaf inside each mold to 
keep the cakes from burning. 

During the day they have little else to eat but these chestnut 
cakes or maize scones, and in the evening they have their big meal 
of bean-soup and potatoes. 

Enrico’s one desire is to have a sausage; in fact, he hopes that 
the Befana (who is his Santa Claus) will put one into his stocking, 
which he hangs by the fire, as well as some oranges and sugar! From 
which you will see that Marietta and Enrico do not have many good 
things to eat. Sometimes their mother carries down heavy bundles 
of fagots on her head to sell in the village, or a few eggs, if she has 



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managed to keep her hens safe from the foxes. Directly she gets 
back, the children have always one question: 

“Little mother, have you brought us any white bread?” 

Every May it is Marietta’s duty to look after the silkworms. 
She keeps them on large trays in the inner room, where later on the 
chestnuts will be dried. She gathers mulberry leaves every day, and 
puts them on a fresh tray, whose bottom is made like a sieve. The 
little creatures clamber through the sieve, and soon get to their fresh 
food. Every day or two a larger sieve is used, till at last they get 
to the largest one, and then Marietta knows it is time to prepare for 
spinning. She sends Enrico off for tall branches of tree heather, 
and arranges them just the way that the little creatures will like. 
They are rather fanciful, and if they do not like Marietta’s arrange¬ 
ments, they will wander off in search of more pleasant spots. How¬ 
ever, Marietta knows pretty well what they like, and soon her 
branches of heather are glistening with bright yellow cocoons. 

Then a little later you will see Marietta sitting outside the door 
with the yellow cocoons in a wooden bowl of warm water, while she 
busily turns a little wheel and winds the fine thread into a skein. 

—Edna Walker. 


























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"Bees 

T?OR many centuries men have studied the bees, 
and these curious and wonderful insects re¬ 
main a fascinating subject of investigation to-day. 
Though many people have devoted their lives to 
observing them, there are still many facts that 
remain unexplained. 

In every beehive there are three kinds of bees. First, there is 
the queen, the ruler of the hive. She is fed with special food; 
servants wait upon her constantly; wherever she goes she is escorted 
and protected by a bodyguard. No bee ever turns its back upon 
the queen. She is served and attended with as much respect as any 
human monarch could wish. You can tell the queen bee at once by 
her long, slender body, which is quite different from the other bees, 
and by her wings, which, when folded, are always crossed at the tips. 
Her days are spent in laying eggs. She lays as many as two or three 
hundred a day. So, the life of the hive depends upon this one 
mother bee, and it is little wonder that the others wait upon her. 

Another kind of bee is the drone, a poor creature, though very 
handsome looking. You can tell the drones by their stout bodies 
and large eyes. They are the idlers of the hive, doing nothing all 
day but eat and sleep. The other bees bring them food and feed 
them patiently for six or eight weeks, because one of these drones 
will be chosen by the queen for her mate. After this occurs, there 
comes a sad day for the lazy drones. The bees drive them all down 
to the bottom of the hive, the drones buzzing angrily, but forced 
to go, and there the workers of the hive put an end to the drones 
by stinging them to death. 

This brings us to the third kind of bee, the workers, whose name 
suggests their mission in life. They do all the work of the hive, 
making wax and building the combs, gathering nectar from the 
flowers and mysteriously converting it into honey, feeding and serv¬ 
ing the queen and caring for the thousands of eggs she lays. 









Nature Studies 


259 


These eggs develop into grubs, and are brought up by the bee 
nurses. The bee bread fed to the grubs is a kind of jelly, made partly 
of honey and partly of the pollen of flowers. The nurses feed the 
grubs of drones and workers with one kind of food, and the grubs 
of the queens with quite a different kind. Indeed, the baby queens 
are treated differently in every way. 

The comb is made of six-sided cells, some of which are used for 
storing honey and others as nurseries for the ordinary grubs which 
will develop into drones or workers. Outside of the comb, there are 
several cells of a different shape. Instead of the usual hexagonal 
cell, these are pear shape and are the royal nurseries, which house 
queen grubs. Occasionally, two queens hatch at the same time; 
then there is trouble. The young queens fight each other until one 
is killed; then the hive accepts the winner for its new ruler. 

The bee’s sting is a wonderful and effective weapon of defense 
against enemies of every kind. A bear loves honey, but after the 
bees have stung him on his sensitive nose, old bruin thinks twice 
before he disturbs a hive. When a man wishes to take honey from 
the bees, he has learned to protect his hand and face from the pain¬ 
ful sting of the angry workers. It is really no robbery, either, be¬ 
cause the bees store far more honey than they ever use. When an 
enemy insect succeeds in entering the hive, the workers have 
two ways of disposing of him. Either they sting him to death, 
or they quickly seal him up in a wax cell from which he can never 
escape. 

During the summer, a beehive is a place of almost incessant 
activity. “Busy as a bee,” “Buzzing like a beehive” are some of 
the sayings we have that indicate the ceaseless industry of these 
little insects. When the cold comes, all activity ceases. The bees 
crawl into the hive, and there they remain, living comfortably on 
the food they have stored up through the summer. The summer 
has been for them a season of brightness and toil; the winter is passed 
in darkness and complete rest. May Hill 



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zJlnts 


J^VEN more interesting than the bees, although not so useful to 
human beings, are the ants. Some bees are solitary, but all 
ants are social—that is, they live in colonies that are organized in 
the most interesting way. 

Like the bees, there are three types of ants, the queens, the drones, 
and the workers. The ants you watch crawling along the roadside 
or through the grass are usually the workers, as they constitute by 
far the largest number of an ant colony. The queens and the males, 
or drones, differ from the workers in having wings, and if you stop 
to think, you will remember that it is only during a small part of 
the summer that you ever see these winged ants. 

When you do see ants flying through the air, it is usually in great 
numbers. Perhaps, some warm summer day, you have seen hun¬ 
dreds and hundreds of these little creatures flying silently through 
the air, so many of them, that they almost resemble a column of 
smoke, except for the flash of their gauzy wings. If you have seen 
this, you have seen the wedding journey of many queen ants, who 
have come from different colonies with their mates, to make this 
flight together. It is only a short journey, and when it is over they 
drop to the ground. The drones die, and the queens tear off their 
own wings, for they will never fly again, and so do not need them. 
After this flight the queen looks for a place to make her home and 








Nature Studies 


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lay her eggs. Sometimes, she returns to her old colony; sometimes 
she starts a new colony; sometimes she is adopted by the workers of 
a colony as their queen. 

The queen ant is not jealous of her position, like the queen bee, 
but will live peacefully in a community with several other queens. 
She is not really a ruler, but the mother of the colony. She is 
waited upon with great devotion by the workers, and her eggs are 
cared for by them as soon as she lays them. When a queen grows 
old, the workers look for a young queen at the swarming time, and 
adopt her, so that the colony may not come to an end when the old 
queen dies. 

































































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The workers are the most interesting and intelligent members 
of an ant community. Like the bee workers, they build the nests, 
get the food, feed the queens, care for the eggs, and do, in short, all 
the necessary work of the group, but they do even more than bee 
workers. These ants keep armies to defend the colony. They take 
prisoners, and force them to do much of the hard work of the group. 
They are fond of pets, and keep little beetles or tiny crickets in their 
nests, and pet them and care for them as we care for dogs or cats. 

Most remarkable of all, these clever ants keep herds of tiny cows, 
which they milk regularly every day. Their cows are the aphids, 
those insects that do so much harm in our gardens by piercing tender 
young shoots and sucking their juice. This juice is converted into 
a milky liquid which the ants enjoy. If you watch closely, you may 
see an ant milk its cow. The ant walks up to an aphid and strokes 
its back with its antennae. The aphid enjoys this, and give forth a 
drop of sweet fluid, which the ant immediately drinks up. The ants 
are clever enough to take excellent care of their herds. They tend 
the aphid eggs in their own nests throughout the winter, and carry 
them out to good feeding ground in the spring. If you see ants run¬ 
ning up and down a tree, watch closely and you will probably dis¬ 
cover that these busy workers are caring for their “cattle.” 

There is a curious story told about ants that makes that insect 
seem almost human in its heroism and self-sacrifice. You have doubt¬ 
less seen a great company of ants on the march, but have you ever 
stopped to wonder how they cross a stream of water? One ant will 
run out on a reed or long grass, another will crawl over him and 
hold on, a third will hold to the second, and so on, until they have 
formed a living bridge across the water. Over this bridge the ant 
army will march. When it is safely across, the slender thread of 
living creatures trembles, sways and breaks. There is no escape. 
These ants which have formed the bridge fall into the water and 
are drowned. They have given their lives for the good of the group. 

May Hill. 




Nature Studies 


263 


Indian Pipes 

J3ERHAPS sometime when you are ex¬ 
ploring a northern pine forest you will 
see in some dark, cool spot a curious, snow- 
white cluster of something that you hardly 
know whether to call flowers or leaves. 
When you examine the little plant closely, 
you discover that it resembles nothing in 
the world so much as a number of tiny 
pipes growing, bowl upward, out of the 
ground. These pipes are the most fairy¬ 
like things in the world; snow-white, 
translucent, like alabaster or milky ice, and 
of the utmost delicacy and perfection. 
They are called Indian pipes, but it seems 
as if they should have been called fairy 
pipes, so strange and unreal they look in 
the dark woods. 

If you pick one of the wee pipes, it turns black in the most mys¬ 
terious way. If, however, you dig carefully around the whole plant 
and take it home, moss and all, it will keep for many days in a 
bowl, if you water it thoroughly and keep it out of the strong light. 
It must be handled with the utmost care, for the least bruise causes 
it to turn black and die. Of course, you would never take more 
than one plant, and not even one unless you saw many other such 
clusters growing nearby, for this is a rare and delicate little forest 
dweller. 

The Indian pipe is a species of orchid, and its way of living is 
as mysterious as its appearance. It takes no nourishment from the 
air; it cannot stand the sun but seems to live upon other plant life— 
the moss, ferns, leaf mold and pine needles, among which it grows. 
It has no leaves, but puts forth only those strange, ghostly little pipes 
in small clusters. 













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There is an old Indian legend about this curious plant. The 
Indians say that once upon a time it was a healthy plant with green 
leaves and a bright pink flower, but it was too lazy to make any ef¬ 
fort. It grew weary of drawing nourishment from the earth and 
the air, and discovered that by fastening itself to the roots of other 
plants it could live without working. When the Great Spirit saw 
this, he said: 

“It is not fair that your beauty should flourish at the expense 
of others. Since you will not work, you shall not be as other flowers.” 

So the Great Spirit caused the leaves to drop from this lazy plant, 
and its color faded. Moreover, it could never again live in warm, 
sunny field, but must hide from the light in the dark, lonely places 
of the forest. From that day to this, the Indians say these pipes 
have been white and doomed to live apart from the flowers of the 
field and meadow, and when you pick one the Indians say it turns 
black because of its shame for its idle, effortless life. “Poor little 
Indian pipes 1” the children say. — May Hill. 




















The Story of the Frog 

W HEN . the ice melts in the early spring on marsh and pond and 
the warm winds bring promise of pleasant days, boys and girls 
cannot fail to notice the chorus of the frogs. There is no surer sign 
in nature that summer time is approaching. 

When you first see a frog in the spring, do you wonder where it 
came from? Was it alive all winter, or do all the frogs die in the 
fall, and are new ones hatched in the spring? When we tell you 
that these interesting little animals live ten or fifteen years—some¬ 
times twenty-five years—you know they must have winter homes. 
They are cold-blooded animals, and a little cool weather does not 
harm them, but when freezing days approach they dig into the mud 
and slime at the bottom of marshes, far enough down so that the 
cold cannot reach them, and there they sleep all winter. We do 
not know how they find out when it is safe to leave their winter beds, 
but they never fail to appear on some fine spring morning. 

If no new little frogs appeared each year, there would soon be 
none of them left in the world; that would not be a good thing for 
us, for they are really a friend of man, as you shall be told later. So, 
in the late spring, as soon as danger of cold weather is over, it is the 
duty of the mother frogs to lay many eggs. These eggs are very 
small, with dark spots on top and white underneath. So small are 










































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they that five thousand of them in one mass are only about the size 
of a coffee cup. They are bound together, so they cannot separate, 
by a jelly-like substance. This egg mass is then deserted by the 
mother, and it floats on the surface of the watery marsh or near the 
bank of a pond, where it is warmed by the rays of the sun and grad¬ 
ually gets larger as the contents of each egg grows. 

Within a few days a great change takes place. The eggs break 
open and from them come great numbers of little, black, wiggling 
things called polliwogs, or tadpoles. At first they have really noth¬ 
ing but head, little gills and a tail, with which they swim. These 
polliwogs become frogs in about eight weeks, if the weather is very 
warm, but in ten weeks, even if the winds are cool. Very early a 
mouth develops, for the little animal must eat, and his food is at first 
vegetable matter in very fine particles. The gills soon drop off and 
hind legs begin to grow, followed soon by front legs. These front 
legs are short, but the hind ones are long and strong, and with these 
the frog is able to make long jumps. Teeth and lungs develop, and 
the tadpole rises to the surface of the water to breathe. The tail 
finally drops off, and then the frog is full-formed. It is very small 
yet and has sharp eyes which never wink, its hearing is good and it 
is a fine swimmer. It requires three or four years to reach full 
growth. 

The frog lives on the land as well as in water, but in water it 
can best protect itself. If these little animals had no enemies, we 
would soon be overrun with them. On land snakes eat many of 
them, and sometimes thoughtless boys destroy them. Frogs’ legs are 
in large demand as food, so many are killed for this purpose. When 






























































Nature Studies 


267 



pursued, they take long, quick jumps to get to water, in which they 
can hide. They are less safe in water, however, for when they are 
yet polliwogs they are eaten by fish, and when full grown, large fish 
devour them, and herons and other large water birds catch them 
for food. 

Resting on broad, green leaves, the frog is green in color. Some¬ 
times on land, on dead leaves or on a fallen tree, it appears brown in 
color. It actually changes color; this is one way it has to protect 
itself against enemies, for it cannot be seen so plainly if it is the same 
color as the leaves, the trees, or grass. 

We told you of what the food of the polliwog consists. After 
it becomes a frog, it changes its bill of fare and eats a very great 
number of mosquitoes, gnats, bugs and little worms. Some of these 
little creatures do damage to growing crops, and thus the frog helps 
man when he destroys them; we all wish that the frogs could eat all 
the mosquitoes and flying bugs. 

Would you like to watch tadpoles grow into little frogs? It can 
be done in the late spring or early summer, and father and mother 
might be interested, too, in seeing the wonderful changes take place. 
A large glass bowl with a small opening at the top, or even a two- 
quart fruit jar, is easy to secure. Put some little stones, a few little 
pieces of wood and perhaps a little moss in the jar, and fill it with 
water. Get a lot of little polliwogs out of the marsh or pond and 
put them into the jar. Day by day you will see the little polliwogs 
grow larger, the legs will appear, the tail will drop off, and the 
little frogs will in time be fully developed. You will find great 
pleasure in this bit of nature study. —E. D. FOSTER. 


































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The ^Migration of 'Birds 

/^\NE of the most fascinating studies in the field of nature is that 
of bird migration. Winter comes, and only English sparrows 
and nuthatches are left of all our rollicking bird colony. Suddenly, 
one day, a cold March wind blows gustily and brings with it the 
clear, delicious flute tones of the robins. “It is spring!” we cry 
delightedly, and hurry out-of-doors to welcome these first brave 
adventurers from the South. 

How have they dared to return so early, when it is still so cold? 
Where have they been all this time? Are they the same two robins 
that nested in our apple tree last spring? Will they settle in that 
same tree this year? These are some of the questions we ask our¬ 
selves each year, when the plucky little travellers return to us. 

We know, of course, that some birds adjust themselves to cold 
weather and do not migrate at all; the buntings, the nuthatches, the 
chickadees, for instance. The farther South you go, the more birds 
you find that are able to remain throughout the year. 

Many of our birds, such as robins, meadowlarks, bluebirds, 
merely journey to Florida for the winter. Others pass out of the 
United States, and settle in northern South America. A few, such 
































Nature Studies 


269 


as the nighthawk and the bobolink, pass over the mountains of 
northern South America and winter on the pampas of Argentina or 
Brazil. So you must remember when a nighthawk soars and swoops 
over your house, or a bobolink sings on your fence, that you are 
entertaining distinguished travellers from Brazil. There is an 
arctic tern that they tell us migrates 10,000 miles twice a year, trav¬ 
elling from its arctic nesting place to its winter home on the antarctic. 
This must surely be the most travelled bird in the feathered world. 

The spring migration of each species of birds follows so regular 
a schedule that you can prophesy within a few days when a certain 
species is due to appear. Most remarkable of all, many of these 
birds return to a certain meadow or to a certain bird-house, or to 
the same apple tree year after year. How can they find their way 
back, over hundreds of miles, to a particular town, orchard and tree, 
is something no one can explain. We say it is their sense of direction, 
but at least we know that it is one of Nature’s miracles. 

The fall migration is not conducted on so regular a schedule. If 
food is plentiful, the birds dally along the way, sometimes even mak¬ 
ing little detours, apparently just for fun. They are probably 
enjoying these care-free days, after all their summer’s toil in raising 
their families. When food gets scarce, or the heavy frosts come, 
they loiter no longer, but take a long steady flight southward. Have 
you seen them go? It is a wonderful sight, that cloud of birds, 
pressing silently onward, their little wings beating the air with strong, 
regular strokes, their leader surging ahead, taking them safely and 
surely to the place where they would be! Certainly there is nothing 
more mysterious than this great flight of the birds that we call 
migration. — May Hill. 







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Something about Butterflies 

OT one of us has ever seen a more beautiful and 
delicate little creature than the butterfly, or one 
which is more graceful, whether it is seen on the wing 
or resting on a leaf or flower. So dainty is it that we 
feel sure even a breath would destroy it, or a touch 
of the hand would mar its wonderful coloring. It is as lovely as 
any flower, and to many children is much more interesting. All 
little children like it, because it has life as well as beauty; when we 
see it flutter by we want to dance along after it, as happy and free 
as it appears to be. We would not harm it, because it gives us 
pleasure. 

Do you wonder how many kinds of butterflies there are in the 
world? The number will really surprise you. You and I can rec¬ 
ognize a few kinds differing from one another, but we know very 
little of most of the six hundred fifty species that are found in North 
America. In all the world there are over twenty thousand species 
and varieties of butterflies; some of these gentle, silk-winged crea¬ 
tures are only half as large as your little finger, while others measure 
seven or eight inches across their outspread wings. Even though 
some of them are small indeed, even the smallest is a great monster 
compared with many other insects which are found in the world. 

One long, hard word must be used in this story. Wise men who 
know a great deal about butterflies discovered one thing about them! 
that is true of no other insect except the moth, which we may call a 
cousin of the butterfly. Both have very small scales on their wings, 
and these scales are all colored, one bit of color on each tiny scale. 
Scientists took the Latin name for “scaly-winged” insects and named 
all butterflies and moths Lepidoptera. It is pronounced quite as 
though it were spelled lep e dop’ ter ah. 

How does the beautiful butterfly grow to its full size, and how 
long does it live? You probably have seen little chickens peck their 
way out of the egg shells, and may think that butterflies also come 








Nature Studies 


271 


out of the eggs perfectly developed. This is not true. There are 
four stages in their growth. The little eggs are deposited on or near 
plants on which the young must later feed. The mother butterfly 
never makes a mistake in choosing the right plant. Some eggs hatch 
in a few weeks, but others require months. When hatching time 
finally arrives there comes forth from the egg not a little helpless 
butterfly which looks like the parent butterfly just as the little chicken 
looks like the mother hen, but an ugly, crawling caterpillar which 
looks like a worm. This is called the larva, and we wonder how 
such a loathsome thing can ever become a beautiful winged butterfly. 

The larva, or caterpillar, so far as appearance suggests, lives only 
to eat. It eats almost every kind of green leaves; it may almost 
entirely strip a tree of its foliage, or eat a large tomato leaf in a single 
night. But it eats so greedily only because in its next stage of devel¬ 
opment it will have nothing to eat for many weeks or months. 

One would naturally think because of the quantity of food con¬ 
sumed that the little caterpillar would grow rapidly; this is true. 
When the caterpillar emerges from the egg, it is a spiny little fellow 
with a whitish spot in the middle of its back; elsewhere it is black. 
There are six little spines on each of its segments, or sections; the 
spines on the black portions are of the same color as the same portions 
of the body, and those on the white spot are white, as might be ex¬ 
pected. Soon the caterpillar outgrows its skin, and it proceeds to 
change to a larger one. In doing this, it crawls to a safe spot on a 
leaf or st&m and spins silken threads from a gland opening from its 
under lip. These silken threads form a sort of carpet, and on these 
the caterpillar remains quiet and sluggish for a short time, when the 
old skin splits down the back. This whole skin is left clinging to the 
silken threads, and the caterpillar finds itself clothed in a new suit. 

It is now a very different looking caterpillar; it no longer has the 
rows of spines down its body, but, for example, if this little animal 
is to grow up into a swallow-tail butterfly, one of the most beautiful 
varieties, its skin now is a brilliant green, beautified by black stripes 
running around its body. It is largest toward the head; it has little 




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feet and very small sharp claws, with which 
it can hold fast to a leaf or stem. More than once 
during its growth as a caterpillar it has to shed 
its skin to accommodate its increasing size. 

Somehow the caterpillar knows when its feed¬ 
ing time is over; by then it has grown to about two 
inches in length. Even though it is a repulsive- 
looking worm during these stages just mentioned, the butterfly 
that is to be has been developing under the brilliantly-colored skin. 
It now finds some sheltered spot, and again spins its silk. This 
time the silk does not take the form of a soft, carpet-like substance, 
but rather it looks like a little button. It then spins a 
loop of silk and fastens each end firmly to whatever object it rests 
upon. The knowing little creature then shoves its head through the 
loop, and thus the latter protects the caterpillar from falling. In 
this position it sheds its last skin, which clings to the button that has 
been spun, and there is revealed the next step in the development of 
the butterfly. It is now called a chrysalis. It is yellowish-brown 
in color and is somewhat hard to see, because it is the same color of 
the object to which it is attached. All the time it is growing toward 
the butterfly stage, and some day its chrysalis breaks open and 
reveals the true butterfly, but it is first a damp and crumpled mass, 
velvety in appearance. Its wings are soft and folded tightly to the 
body, and have no color, but sunshine and air soon work a miracle, 
and little by little the tiny scales on its wings take on the color of a 
rainbow, and speedily it becomes the beautiful “winged flower,” a 
perfect butterfly. 

Some butterflies and moths look so much alike to children that 
it is difficult to distinguish one from the other. Watch one of the 
little creatures light upon a leaf. If it folds its wings so they stand 
straight upward it is a butterfly; the moths spread their wings out 
flat. 



E. D. Foster. 























































































































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The Story of the Qreat Stone Face 

XJATHANIEL HAWTHORNE has writtent 
many wonderful stories of New England life, 
but one of the most remarkable in his story called 
“The Great Stone Face.” In this tale he tells us 
that there is a certain village lying high up in the 
mountains, and overlooking this village, cut deep 
into one of the jagged peaks of the range, there is a Great Stone Face. 
This face has been formed by some accident or freak of nature, and 
it is not visible from all angles, but from the little village below it 
looms up, majestic and impressive; the gigantic profile of a human 
countenance. 

One night about sunset a mother and her little son were sitting at 
the door of their cottage, looking at the Great Stone Face. The little 
boy’s name was Ernest, and after he had gazed silently at the Face 
for several minutes, he said : 

“Mother, I wish that the Great Stone Face could speak. Every 
day I look at it, and it looks so kindly at me, it seems almost as if it 
might speak. It would say wonderful things, don’t you think so, 
mother? I should like to know a man with a face like that.” 

“Perhaps you will, one of these days, my son; you will, if the old 
prophecy ever comes to pass.” 

“Oh, mother, what is the old prophecy about the Great Stone 
Face? Please tell me quickly,” begged the little boy. 

So his mother told him a story that she had had from her mother, 
and she from her mother, and she from her mother. Indeed, the 
story was so old that it went far back of the first settlers, to the Indians, 
and no one knew from whom the Indians had had the tale. At any 
rate, the story was always the same. It said that at some future time 
a child would be born under the shadow of this mountain whose 
features would, in manhood, exactly resemble the features of the 
Great Stone Face. That man would be the noblest man of his 
time; his life would be of greatest benefit to his people. 















Character Sketches 


275 


“Oh, mother, do you think that you and I shall ever live to see 
this noble and good man?” asked Ernest. 

“That I cannot say,” answered his mother. “I only know that 
the people still believe the old prophecy, and they look for the man 
who shall resemble the Great Stone Face in features and with a 
goodness that shall correspond with those features.” 

Now Ernest never forgot this story, and whenever he looked at 
the Great Stone Face he hoped that he might live to see the man who 
would look at him with the kindness and the majesty of this face that 
^azed down upon him from the mountains. Ernest grew from a 
,'ittle boy into a quiet, happy youth. He was sunburned and strong 
: rom his work in the fields and his face wore the look of quiet intel- 
jigence of one who thinks deeply. Ernest read many books, after the 
day’s work was over, but his greatest source of learning was from 
the daily contemplation of the Great Stone Face. It stemed to 
Ernest that if he could learn the secret of that calm, strong face, 
hewn in deep, noble lines, then indeed he would know the secret of 
life itself. 

One day the little village was all astir over a great piece of news. 
It was said that the man of prophecy had been found at last. One 
of the young men who had left the village many years before was 
now an enormously rich man in a distant city, and it was he who 
was now said to resemble* the Great Stone Face. Gathergold was 
his name, and workmen had arrived in the little village to build a 
mansion for this great man on the very farm where he had lived 
when he had been only a poor boy. 

Ernest was almost more excited over this news than anyone else, 
and he could hardly wait to see the man who looked like his great, 
silent teacher of the mountains. After a while, when Ernest saw the 
magnificence and gorgeousness of the house this man was building 
for himself in the simple little mountain village, he was puzzled. It 
seemed strange that anybody with the nobility of character that 
showed in the Great Stone Face should build such a foolish house as 



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that. Still, Ernest did not lose faith, but waited eagerly for the day 
when the great man should arrive. The day came at last, and every¬ 
one in the village went to the station to welcome Mr. Gathergold. 
The crowd was so great that Ernest decided to wait on the road 
awhile. He sat down under a shady tree, and gazed up at the Great 
Stone Face. It looked down at him serenely, and suddenly he heard 
the rumble of wheels approaching. It was the coach bearing Mr. 
Gathergold to his marble mansion. Ernest looked eagerly at the 
coach and saw inside a shrivelled, yellow old man with bony hands 
and a thin-lipped wrinkled face. A beggar woman called to hirr 
from the road, and he dropped her a few pennies with his claw-like 
hand. Gathergold was his name, but Scattercopper he might hav^ 
been nicknamed. 

The young boy by the roadside turned sadly away from tha: 
miserly looking old face in the coach and turned his eyes once mors 
towards the mountains. The Great Stone Face seemed to kindle 
with sympathy, and the lips might almost have been saying, so plain 
were the words to Ernest: 

“Fear not, Ernest; the man will come!” and for the time the 
boy was comforted. 

After this experience there were others of the same kind. There 
was a famous general who had been born in the valley. In his 
camps the men called him “Old Blood and Thunder,” and it was 
noised abroad that he was, indeed, that great leader of the people 
whose features resembled those of the Great Stone Face. But when 
he came to the valley Ernest saw in this old general much of 
strength, energy, and iron will, but with none of the gentleness and 
the deep, quiet wisdom of the Stone Face. Even the people of the 
valley saw this, and admitted there was little resemblance, even as 
they had done in the case of old Gathergold. 

Many years passed, and then the tale started afresh. People 
said that the Great Stone Face had a living likeness at last—a fam¬ 
ous statesman, liable to be the next President, and so remarkably 




Character Sketches 


277 



like the granite face that he had already been dubbed “Old Stony 
Phiz.” Again, Ernest felt hopeful. It seemed reasonable to Ernest 
that the man who bore a resemblance to the Great Stone Face 
should not be a mere gatherer of gold, nor a man of many battles, 
but a man of peace; a statesman, wise, beneficent and good, and he 
felt that this must surely be the man. Old Stony Phiz finally came 
to the valley, and when Ernest first looked at him he saw the resem¬ 
blance. There were the same large, massive features and the same 
noble brow, but there the likeness ended. Where the eyes of the 
granite Face seemed full of purpose, this man’s eyes were tried. He 
looked like a man of action, whose life lacked purpose. 

Bitterly disappointed, Ernest once more lifted his eyes to the 
Great Stone Face. It loomed above him with serene grandeur. 
Once more it seemed to repeat the message he had heard as a child: 

“Fear not, Ernest, the man will come.” 





































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Years passed; Ernest had grown from a vigorous, thoughtful 
young man into a respected and beloved old man. He had con¬ 
tinued his work in the fields, his reading of good books, and his long 
hours spent in the mountains, within sight of his trusted teacher, 
the Great Stone Face. From these quiet times had come strength 
and wisdom. Ernest became a teacher, too, and preacher to the 
people of the village. They came to depend upon his gentle wis¬ 
dom, and the words he spoke to them were treasured in their hearts 
and lives, and often repeated to others with like needs as their own. 
Gradually Ernest's fame spread throughout the country, and 
learned men came from far and wide to talk with this kindly, 
thoughtful old man, who lived so simply in his mountain village. 

One night a famous poet came to Ernest’s door to visit him. 
Ernest had long known and loved the writings of this man, and they 
talked of many things with the greatest enjoyment of each other’s 
society. At last, Ernest said to the poet: 

“My good friend, all my life I have lived in the hope of meet¬ 
ing a man who should have the same wisdom and kindness in his 
heart and face that my teacher, the Great Stone Face, seems to 
have. Several men have come to this valley with that reputation, 
but not one of them has had all that yonder Face seems to have. 
Now you have come, unannounced, and it seems to me you have 
more than all these others have had. Are you not indeed the living 
likeness of the Great Stone Face? 

The poet smiled, “No, Ernest, I am not the man,” he said, 
sadly. “Perhaps if I had remained in this valley I might have kept 
my belief in beauty and goodness, but as it is I have lost them, and 
I am far from resembling the Face that has weathered every storm, 
and remained faithful and calm.” 

Ernest sighed. “Come,” he said, “this is the hour for me to 
speak to my people.” 

Together, the poet and this aged man of the mountains walked, 
to a little nook in the hills where Ernest was in the habit of speaking 



Character Sketches 


279 


to the people out-of-doors. The villagers and folk from the neigh¬ 
boring communities were already gathered in this place, seated on 
the grass, facing a little elevation from which Ernest was wont to 
speak. The aged man took his place, smiling down at these people 
whom he knew and loved. The sun was setting, and up above the 
valley the Great Stone Face looked down from a glowing sky. 

Ernest spoke simply, but with a depth and wisdom that moved 
the poet as no other words had ever moved him. The people listened 
in hushed silence, gazing reverently at this aged man, who had 
helped and loved them all for so many years. The poet lifted his 
eyes, blurred with tears, to the Great Stone Face that shone grandly 
above them. From the face he looked at Ernest. There was the 
same wisdom, serenity, gentleness and strength. The setting sun 
flung a parting shaft of light upon the two faces, and the poet could 
remain silent no longer: 

“Look,” he cried; “Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great 
Stone Face!” Then the people looked and saw that what the poet 
had said was true. Their own teacher had grown to be the likeness 
of the face he had loved and studied all his life. The prophecy was 
fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the 
poet by the arm and walked slowly home, still hoping that someone 
would come who would be worthier than he to resemble the Great 
Stone Face. 

From “Tales of the White Hills — Hawthorne—Houghton Mifflin 
& Company. Adapted— May Hill 




















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rJhtaximilian and the Qoose Hoy 

summer day King Maximilian of Bavaria was 
walking in the country. The sun shone hot, and 
he stopped under a tree to rest. 

It was very pleasant in the cool shade. The king 
lay down on the soft grass and looked up at the white 
clouds sailing across the sky. Then he took a little book from his 
pocket and tried to read. 

But the king could not keep his mind on his book. Soon his eyes 
closed, and he was fast asleep. 

It was past noon when he awoke. He got up from his grassy bed 
and looked around. Then he took his cane in his hand, and started 
for home. 

When he had walked a mile or more, he happened to think of 
his book. He felt for it in his pocket. It was not there. He had 
left it under the tree. 

The king was already quite tired, and he did not like to walk 
back so far. But he did not wish to lose the book. What should 
he do? If there was only some one to send for it! 

While he was thinking, he happened to see a little bare-footed 
boy in the open field near the road. He was tending a large flock of 
geese, that were picking the short grass and wading in a shallow 
brook. 

The king went toward the boy. He held a gold piece in his hand. 

“My boy,” he said, “how would you like to have this piece of 
money?” 

“I would like it,” said the boy; “but I never hope to have so 
much.” 

“You shall have it if you run back to the oak tree at the second 
turning of the road, and fetch me the book that I left there.” 

The king thought that the boy would be pleased. But not so. 
He turned away and said, “I am not as silly as you think.” 







Character Sketches 


281 



“What do you mean?” said the king. “Who says that you are 
silly?” 

“Well,” said the boy, “you think that I am silly enough to believe 
that you will give me that gold piece for running a mile and fetching 
you a book. You can’t catch me.” 

“But if I give it to you now, perhaps you will believe me,” said 
the king; and he put the gold piece into the little fellow’s hand. 

The boy’s eyes sparkled; but he did not move. 

“What is the matter now?” said the king. “Won’t you go?” 

The boy said, “I would like to go; but I can’t leave the geese. 
They will stray away, and then I shall be blamed for it.” 

“Oh, I will tend them while you are away,” said the king. 

The boy laughed. “I should like to see you tending them,” he 
said. “Why, they would run away from you in a minute.” 

“Only let me try,” said the king. 

At last the boy gave the king his whip, and started off. He had 
gone but a little way, when he turned and came back. 

“What is the matter now?” said Maximilian. 

“Crack the whip!” 

The king tried to do as he was bidden, but he could not make a 
sound. 

“I thought as much,” said the boy. “You don’t know how to do 
anything.” 











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Then he took the whip, and gave the king lessons in whip 
cracking. “Now you see how it is done,” he said, as he handed it 
back. “If these geese try to run away, crack is loud.” 

The king laughed. He did his best to learn his lesson; and soon 
the boy again started off on his errand. 

Maximilian sat down on a stone, and laughed at the thought of 
being a goose-herd. But the geese missed their master at once. With 
a great cackling and hissing they went, flying, half running, 
across the meadow. 

The king ran after them, but he could not run fast. He tried 
to crack the whip, but it was of no use. The geese were soon far 
away. What was worse, they had gotten into a garden, and were 
feeding on the tender vegetables. 

A few minutes afterward, the goose boy came back with the book. 

“Just as I thought,” he said. “I have found the book and you 
have lost the geese.” 

“Never mind,” said the king, “I will help you get them again.” 

“Well, then, run round that way, and stand by the brook while 
I drive them out of the garden.” 

The king did as he was told. The boy ran forward with his 
whip, and the geese were driven back into the meadow. 

“I hope you will pardon me for not being a better goose-herd,” 
said Maximilian; “but, as I am a king, I am not used to such 
work.” 

“A king, indeed!” said the boy. “I was very silly to leave the 
geese with you. But I am not so silly as to believe that you are a 
king.” 

“Very well,” said Maximilian, with a smile; “here is another 
gold piece, and now let us be friends.” 

The boy took the gold, and thanked the giver. He looked up 
into the king’s face and said: 

“You are a very kind man, and I think you might be a good 
king; but if you were to try all your life, you would never be a 
good goose-herd.” From BALDWIN — Fifty Famous Tales . 



Character Sketches 


283 


The Qirlhood of Queen Victoria 

By J. Edward Parrott 

J T was when the little Princess was nine years old that Sir Walter 

Scott first saw her, and he tells about the meeting in his diary. 

“I dined with the Duchess of Kent,” he wrote, “and was intro¬ 
duced to the little Princess Victoria—the heir-apparent to the 
House, as things now stand. This little lady is educated with much 
care, and watched so closely that no busy maid has a moment to 
whisper, ‘You are the heir of England.’ I suspect if we could dis¬ 
sect the little heart we should find that some pigeon or other bird of 
the air had carried the matter.” 

But Sir Walter Scott was wrong; not even a little bird had 
carried the news to her that she might one day be Queen of England, 
and it was not until some years later that she was told. 

She was sitting in her schoolroom one day with her governess, 
deeply interested in her history lesson, when she turned over the 
page of the history book and found between the leaves a new list 
of the kings and queens of England which had been placed there. 

“I never saw this before,” she said, looking up. 

“It was not thought necessary that you should, Princess,” 
answered the governess. 

There was a pause while Victoria still studied the paper. 

“I see I am nearer the throne than I thought,” she went on 
slowly. 

“So it is, ma’am,” said the governess, watching her. 

Again there was silence for a few minutes. Then she said: 
“There is much splendor, but there is much responsibility.” 

Then, suddenly, all the primness and moralizing vanished, and 
the child’s big heart and earnest, true character came naturally out. 
This great inheritance, this load of responsibility resting so quaintly 
on the childish shoulders, was something very real to her, and the 
chord of duty was touched which in all her after-life gave forth no 



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uncertain sound. Turning to her governess, she 
held out her hand and said simply, “I will be 
good.” 

Looking forward into the dim years of the 
future, well might the need have been felt for 
some great vow, some hero’s arm to fight for 
and uphold the honor of England, and instead 
there stood a little, round-faced, fair-haired 
child with earnest eyes and uplifted hand, and greater than any war¬ 
rior’s vow sounded the simple, childish words, “I will be good.” 

It is five o’clock on a June morning, in the year 1837. London is 
not yet awake; nevertheless, four high officers of state are knocking 
lustily and ringing loudly at the outer gate of Kensington Palace. 
They have come straight from the deathbed of William IV, and 
they have news of the highest importance for the young Princess 
who resides within. But at this early hour of the day the whole 
palace is wrapped in slumber, and the knocking and ringing have to 
be repeated many times before the drowsy porter is awakened. You 
see him rubbing his eyes and reluctantly throwing open the gate. 
Now the little party, which includes the Primate and the Lord High 
Chamberlain, enters the courtyard, and another long wait follows. 
At length the distinguished visitors are admitted to a lower room of 
the palace, and there they seem to be quite forgotten. They ring 
the bell, and when it is answered the Lord High Chamberlain re¬ 
quests that the attendant of the Princess Victoria be sent to inform 
her Royal Highness that high officials of state desire an audience on 
business of the utmost importance. 

There is another long delay, and again the bell is rung, this time 
with pardonable impatience. The attendant of the Princess is sum¬ 
moned, and she declares that her royal charge is in such a sweet 
sleep that she cannot venture to disturb her. “We are come on busi¬ 
ness of state to the Queen,” says the Lord High Chamberlain, “and 
even her sleep must give way to that.” 

A few minutes later the door opens again, and a young girl of 









Character Sketches 


285 





. \ 



If 






▼ 






BWSygyF- 


eighteen, fresh as a newly-opened rosebud, enters the room. She has 
not waited to dress. Her hair falls loose upon her shoulders; she 
has hurriedly thrown a shawl round herself, and thrust her feet into 
slippers. There are tears in her eyes as she learns that her uncle, 
the King, is dead, and that she is Queen! 

At once she turns to the archbishop, and with simple, unaffected 
piety says, “Pray for me!” All kneel together, and the venerable 
prelate supplicates the Most High, who ruleth over the kingdoms 

of men, to give the young sovereign an understanding heart to judge 
so great a people. 


. - ~~~ . I.. ~ .3 










































































































































































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yarn 'lAddams 

N the poorest part of Chicago’s West Side, 
where tumbled-down houses jostle against 
each other, and women with shawls over their 
heads attend the market in the middle of the 
street and haggle over the price of a few pota¬ 
toes with swarthy men who speak in a foreign 
tongue; in the midst of poverty, squalor and 
many tragedies, there stands a spacious red brick 
house, bearing the name “Hull House.” It looks as if it had stepped 
out of another world, the large, dignified, beautiful building that 
suggests comfort and beauty, in spite of the misery and ugliness that 
surround it. Suppose you stop that old woman with the red shawl 
over her head and ask her about Hull House. She will say: 

“That is where Jane Addams lives, and it is there I go to show 
these so lazy children how I weave in Italy.” 

Or, ask the young dark-eyed mother, who is going in your direc¬ 
tion, and she will tell you: 

“Oh, yes, Hull House! It is the good place. There my baby is, 
in a most beautiful room while I to work do go. To-night when I 
shall call for my baby he will be clean and full of good food, and 
he will laugh with me when he see me.” 

And the man on the corner will tell you: 

“Jane Addams lives at Hull House, and she helps everyone in 
the neighborhood. We all go to Hull House; for plays, for music, 
for good talks, for many things.” 

So it is; Hull House belongs to Jane Addams and to her people, 
and these people are of every race and country, but she has made 
them her people because she has loved them. 

Now, Jane Addams was never poor, like the people she helps. 
She was born in Cedarville, Illinois, in a big, comfortable house, with 
prosperous and devoted parents to keep her from any possible want. 





























Character Sketches 


287 


The little Jane attended the village school, and then went to 
Rockford Academy. From there she went to Europe and traveled 
through all the loveliest countries of the Old World, seeing the won¬ 
derful pictures in the old galleries and visiting many interesting 
places. One night, when she was in London, friends took her to see 
London’s poorest neighborhood, the terrible east side. That night 
she saw the hungry faces of children, looking longingly at food they 
could not have. She saw thin, gaunt mothers, buying half spoiled 
fruit and vegetables, because they could not afford anything else. 
Those terrible sights changed Jane Addams’ whole life. She made 
up her mind that those people needed someone to help them; not 
merely to give them money and food, but to help them out of their 
poverty and to teach them how to live in a better way. 

She returned to America and studied the conditions of the poor 
in our own country. Then, she went back to Europe, trying to de¬ 
cide what she could do. At last, she talked the matter over with 
Miss Starr, a dear friend who was in Europe with her. These two 
decided on a plan that was different from anything that had been 
tried in America. They set sail for the United States, and after 
reaching there went to Chicago, and began to search for the house 
they needed for their plan. 

This house must be large and in the neighborhood of poverty, 
where the people needed help. At last they found the very house 
they desired. It was a large, red brick building that had once been 
a fine old mansion. But now the slums had crept up around it, the 
streets were dirty, the houses were dilapidated and miserable; the 
alleys were full of ragged, hungry children, and there was no beauty 
anywhere save in the blue sky overhead. Into this neighborhood 
Miss Addams and her friend moved lovely old furniture, beautiful 
pictures and rugs, and all the dirty children watched these strange 
luxuries being carried into the big house. Soon the place was cozy 
and beautiful, and the beauty was as much for the enjoyment of the 
neighbors as for the ladies of the house. 

Next, Miss Addams and Miss Starr set out to get acquainted 




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with their neighbors. The women of many races who lived near 
them could not imagine why these two beautiful women, who seemed 
to have money, should have come to live in their queer, dirty streets. 
At first they were a little suspicious, but presently they became ac¬ 
quainted, and their suspicions gave place to trust and affection. Hull 
House became a familiar and delightful place for them to go, and 
soon it became a center of helpfulness and inspiration. 

While these neighbors of many races and countries were finding 
pleasure and help in the many activities of Hull House, Miss 
Addams was working for them in other ways. She strove to have 
laws made that would do away with the crowded conditions of the 
tenements and provide houses that should be healthful and com¬ 
fortable. She struggled to have laws made that would prevent little 
children working in factories when they should be going to school 
or playing out of doors. In more ways than I could tell you in many 
pages, Miss Addams has tried to help those neighbors of hers, in 
the poor foreign quarter of Chicago. They in turn have loved her, 
and have called her by many affectionate names, but the one that 
seems to fit her best is the name an old blind man gave her. This old 
man always spoke of Miss Addams as “Kind Heart,” and the humble 
dwellers in the Hull House region echo the name, “Kind Heart.” 

Adapted from Mary Wade’s Article in Young Folks’ Treasury. 









































Character Sketches 


289 


The 'Boyhood of Benjamin Franklin 

HE father of Benjamin Franklin, who had been a wool- 
dyer in England, emigrated about the year 1682 to that 
part of America which the colonists called New Eng¬ 
land. Benjamin, who was the fifteenth child in a family 
of seventeen, was not born till twenty-five years later. 
Although he was born in Boston in 1706, he was a Brit¬ 
ish subject, the Americans being then but colonists of Great Britain. 

Although Benjamin had only two years’ schooling, which was 
between the age of eight and ten years, he must have received good 
tuition from his father, for he was able to read before he went to 
school. He tells us that his father always made it a point that the 
table-talk was of interest and instruction to the children. There was 
never any discussion of their food; that was strictly prohibited. Even 
if the food was not to their minds, or was extra pleasing, or was not 
well cooked, no remark whatever was to be made. Benjamin tells 
us that with this good training he found in later life that he was 
quite indifferent to what food was set before him. 

His father had desired at first that his youngest son, Benjamin, 
should be a clergyman, but with the expenses of bringing up a family 
of seventeen he did not care to go to the further expense of a college 
training. At ten years of age Benjamin was put into his father’s 
business, but the cutting of wicks and the pouring of molten wax 
into candle-molds did not interest the boy. After two years of such 
work he told his father that he disliked the business, whereupon his 
father very wisely offered to find him some business which should 
be more congenial. But it is often no light task to determine for 
what business a boy is best suited, and so his father took Benjamin 
on his walks with him, to let the boy see different tradesmen at work, 
and that he himself might observe the boy’s inclinations. There was 
some thought of apprenticing him to a cutler, but the fees demanded 
seemed to the father unreasonable. 

He had observed that all Benjamin’s pocket-money was spent on 








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books, and that the boy had a decided bookish inclination, and so 
it occurred to him that the printing trade would be a congenial one 
to Benjamin. An older brother had been set up in business as a 
printer, and so it was arranged that Benjamin should become an 
apprentice to him. The apprenticeship was to be a very long one, 
for Benjamin, who was then twelve years of age, was not to be free 
till he came of age. 

Benjamin found the work very congenial, especially as he could 
borrow copies of books from other apprentices. Sometimes he was 
required to return these books by the morning, but on such occasions 
he would sit up the greater part of the night till he finished the book. 
Later on, a merchant who frequented the printing office offered Ben¬ 
jamin the use of his large library. 

During his early apprenticeship Benjamin became a vegetarian; 
the idea was suggested by some book he had read, but the real advan¬ 
tage that Benjamin saw in this diet was that the meals were more 
easily eaten, leaving more time for reading, and the cost of the food 
was less, so that he had more pocket money for buying books. When 
his purse was not long enough to meet his demand for books, he 
would sell those he had read and buy new ones. 

After Benjamin had served a few years of his apprenticeship, it 
so happened that his stepbrother began to publish a newspaper, the 
second in New England. People had tried to dissuade the brother, 
as they considered one newspaper quite sufficient for New England. 
Those who wrote the news for this paper were quite in the habit of 
meeting at the printing office to discuss matters. The youthful Ben¬ 
jamin, then only fifteen years of age, thought he would like to try 
his hand at writing articles. He knew very well that his brother 
would not allow him, and so he wrote in a disguised hand and pushed 
the anonymous manuscript beneath the door of the printing office 
after closing hour. He heard the journalists discuss his production 
next day, and the verdict was very encouraging; indeed, it was the 
general opinion that the article had been written by some well-known 
man of learning. This and other similar articles were published, 



Character Sketches 


291 


and at last Benjamin informed his stepbrother and the journalists 
that he had been the anonymous writer. The journalists were gen¬ 
uinely interested in him, but the stepbrother was exceedingly dis¬ 
pleased, and thought the boy was far too vain. 

Benjamin’s position in the printing office was by no means im¬ 
proved by this incident. Although he still had four years of his 
apprenticeship to serve, he determined to cut short the continued un¬ 
pleasantness. So, selling his books in order to pay his passage, he 
embarked upon a ship sailing for Philadelphia. 

The story of his arrival in the Quaker City is so famous that we 
must give it in his own words, as he wrote it down many years latei 
for his son. 

“I was in my working dress. I was dirty from my journey; my 
pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no 
soul or where to look for lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, 
rowing, and want of rest; I was very hungry; and my whole stock of 
cash consisted of a Dutch dollar and about a shilling in copper. 

“The latter I gave the people of the boat for my passage, who at 
first refused it on account of my rowing; but I insisted on their taking 
it. A man is sometimes more generous when he has but a little 
money than when he has plenty, perhaps through fear of being 
thought to have but little. Then I walked up the street, gazing 
about, till, near the market house, I met a boy with bread. 

“I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring where he had 
bought it, I went immediately to the baker’s he directed me to, in 
Second Street, and asked for biscuit, intending such as we had in 
Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I 
asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So 
not considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater 
cheapness nor the names of this bread, I bade him give me three¬ 
penny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great 
puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having 
no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and 
eating the other. 




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“Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, passing 
by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife’s father; when she, stand¬ 
ing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a 
most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went 
down Chestnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all 
the way, and, coming round, found myself again at Market Street 
wharf, near the boat on which I came in, to which I went for a draft 
of the river water; and one of my rolls having satisfied me, I gave 
the other two to a woman and her child, who had come down the 
river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther. 

“Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time 
had many clean-dressed people in it who were all walking the same 
way. I joined them, and thereby was led to a great meeting-house 
of the Quakers near the market. 

“I sat down among them, and, after looking round awhile and 
hearing nothing said, being drowsy through labor and want of rest 
the preceding night, I fell fast asleep and continued so till the meet¬ 
ing broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me. This was, 
therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia.” 






































































































Character Sketches 


293 


Thomas Edison 

HERE is probably not a person to-day who has 
not been benefited, directly or indirectly, by 
the inventions of Thomas Edison. This re¬ 
markable man has passed his three-score years, 
but is still alive, and thinking and working as 
steadily as ever. He is sometimes called the 
Grand Old Man of inventions; certainly there is 
no one in this generation who has such a record 
of achievements to his credit. Yet, his life began with the obscurity 
that has marked the beginning of so many notable men. 

Thomas A. Edison was born in Milan, Ohio, February 11, 1847. 
He was not a very strong child, and when he began to go to school 
his teacher did not think him particularly bright. His mother knew 
him better than the teacher did, however, and decided that she 
could instruct him better at home. So she took him out of school, 
and under her skillful guidance he became a voracious reader and 
progressed much faster than the average boy of his age. He asked 
the most endless questions about how things were made. Doubtless 
his family was often tempted to say, “Don’t ask so many questions!” 
but, instead, his questions were either answered or else he was 
helped to find the answer for himself. 

When Thomas was seven years old, the Edison family moved to 
Port Huron, Michigan. By the time he was eleven years old he had 

• 

become greatly interested in chemistry, and he had a place in the 
cellar which he used as a laboratory. He did not keep it in as tidy 
condition as his mother would have liked, but she was wise enough 
to know that Thomas’ experiments were of more importance than 
an immaculate cellar. So, though she urged him to an occasional 
house cleaning in his laboratory, on the whole she encouraged his 
work and stimulated his thinking. 

Thomas finally reached the age when he needed more money 
than his family could afford to give him; so he decided it was time 











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for him to strike out and earn this money for himself. He took a 
position as newsboy on a train. This work brought him in enough 
money to enable him to go on with his experiments, gave him access 
to all the magazines, and most precious of all, left an ample margin 
of time for study. His first run was between Port Huron and De¬ 
troit. His train reached Detroit early in the morning, and he had a 
long period before the return trip, for experimenting. He earned 
sometimes as much as ten dollars a day, and finally had enough 
money saved to buy a small, second-hand printing press. This marked 
the beginning of a new line of experimentation for Thomas. He 
was now only fourteen years old, but he began, at this age, to edit 
and print a small newspaper called The JVeekly Herald, which he 
sold at three cents a week, eight cents a month. This was at the time 
of the great Civil War, and of course everyone was tremendously 
excited and eager for the latest news. Edison printed this paper on 
the moving train, and his business increased so fast that he was soon 
obliged to employ a helper. 

Yet all the time he was successfully carrying on this venture, he 
was not losing sight of his scientific work. All the extra money he 
earned from the paper he saved and eventually reinvested in his 
little train laboratory. One day he saved the life of a little boy who 
was almost run over by the train. The child’s father was so grateful 
to the young Edison that he offered to teach him telegraphy. Thomas 
was only too glad to learn, and not only mastered this new line of 
work but also made himself an instrument of his own. All seemed 
to be going well with the boy, when one day he was so unfortunate 
as to drop a stick of phosphorus on the train floor. It burst into 
flames, and Edison was badly burned in trying to put out the fire. 
Worse still, when the conductor discovered the catastrophe, he was 
so angry that he boxed Thomas on the ears severely. This blow 
caused the great affliction of the inventor’s life. It resulted in the 
deafness which has never been cured. At the time the boy was not 
at all discouraged, but went bravely on with his many kinds of work: 




Character Sketches 


295 


until another accident befell him. This time the train jumped the 
track, and Edison’s laboratory, newspapers, stock of magazines, 
candy, nuts and fruits were scattered along the track in a hopeless 
condition. This ended his train work. 

After this, Edison began the study of telegraphy in earnest, and 
made a success of it, as he did of everything he undertook. It was a 
stepping-stone to success for him. At the age of twenty-two he re¬ 
ceived his first large check, for forty thousand dollars, for some 
invention connected with telegraphy. As in the past, when he had 
earned and saved a little money, Edison regarded this sum merely 
as an aid to further experiments. He lived simply, worked contin¬ 
uously, and never tired of thinking and carrying through some new 
device that would make life more comfortable and pleasant. 

The story of his inventions would fill many books, but probably 
the Edison invention that has given the greatest pleasure to the largest 
number of people is the phonograph. The talking machine, it was 
called at first, and those early machines would seem crude compared 
with our wonderful ones to-day. In electricity, Edison has made 
innumerable experiments. Incandescent lights and electric street 
cars have become so old a story that probably there are a good many 
boys and girls to-day who do not know that Edison invented them. 
There is a wonderful stone crusher that he has worked out that is in 
constant use in the mountains. It not only crushes mountains of 
stone, but separates the different ores. The stone crusher started 
Edison thinking about cement. He decided we ought to be able to 
make cement like the old product that has lasted through for ages. 
The result is the modern Portland Cement, with its endless 
possibilities. 

In 1887 Edison began working on an instrument that would re¬ 
produce scenes for the eye, just as the phonograph did sounds for 
the ear. In 1889 the first modern motion-picture camera was made. 
As in the case of the talking machine, this first product was far from 
the perfection we enjoy to-day, but it was a wonderful beginning. 




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During the terrible World War, when everyone was overwhelmed 
by the possibilities of the submarine, the people of America felt con¬ 
fident that Edison could invent something that would defeat its 
wicked destruction of human life. He felt his responsibilities 
keenly, and kept himself and a great crew of men working night and 
day, with only brief periods for eating and sleeping and none for 
recreation. Some of the results of that intensive work were smoke 
screens, locating submarines by sound, steamship decoys and many 
other useful aids in thwarting the enemy. 

Edison is an old man to-day, but vigorous and hearty except for 
his deafness. This he has always made light of. He insists that it 
has been a help to him, protecting him from the trivial, irrelevant 
noises that would interfere with his thinking. He still works twice 
as hard as the average person, and does with only half the usual 
amount of sleep. Some one said to him: 

“Mr. Edison, how in the world have you been able to accomplish 
so much?” 

And the old inventor answered briefly: 

“Hard work, based on hard thinking.” 

Adapted —MAY HlLL 









































HEROES & 
PATRIOTS 



298 


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Qeorge Washington 

Adapted from Scudder’s “George Washington” and other sources 

May Hill 

EORGE Washington was born near the 
shore of the Potomac River, February 
22, 1732. The land where his father's house 
stood had been in the Washington family ever 
since 1657, when John Washington came over 
from England. The house where our first 
President was born has been gone for many 
generations, but the place has been marked by 
a stone slab, bearing the name of Washington 
and the date of his birth. Not long after his birth this old house 
burned, and this family moved to Stafford County, on the banks of the 
Rappahannock River, just opposite the little city of Fredericksburg. 

Here George Washington spent his childhood. Both his mother 
and his father were devoted to their children, and George learned 
his first, and perhaps his most important, lessons from his parents. 
When he was old enough to go to school, his first teacher was a Mr. 
Hobby, who after school hours was the neighborhood grave-digger. 
We are told that George learned quickly, and was ahead of most 
boys of his age in school. His books were never torn or dog-eared, 
but rumor has it that the young George used to find great amuse¬ 
ment in drawing the faces of his teacher and of his schoolmates. 

One of his little playmates at this period was Richard Henry 
Lee, who grew up to be a very distinguished Virginian. These two 
remained lifelong friends, and when they were men, they wrote to 
each other bout many serious matters; but here are two letters that 
marked the beginning of their correspondence: 

Richard Henry Lee to George Washington: 

Pa brought me two pretty books full of pictures he got them in Alexandria 
they have pictures of dogs cats elefants and ever so many pretty things cousin bids 
me send you one of them it has a picture of an elefant and a little Indian boy on 











Heroes and Patriots 


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his back like uncle jo’s sam pa says if I learn my tasks good he will let uncle jo 
bring me to see you will you ask your ma to let you come to see me. 

Richard henry Lee. 

George Washington to Richard Henry Lee: 

Dear Dickey I thank you very much for the pretty picture book you gave me. 
Sam asked me to show him the pictures and I showed him all the pictures in it; 
and I read him how the tame elephant took care of the master’s little son. I can 
read three or four pages sometimes without missing a word. Ma says I may go to 
see you, and stay all day with you next week if it be not rainy. She says I may ride 
my pony Hero if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead Hero. I have a little piece 
of poetry about the picture book you gave me, but I mustn’t tell you who wrote the 
poetry. 

G. W’s. compliments to R. H. L. 

And likes his book full well, 

Henceforth will count him his friend, 

And hopes many happy days he may spend. 

Your good friend, 

George Washington. 

I am going to get a whip top soon, and you may see it and whip it. 

From these two letters I think you must feel that either the 
young George was very much more clever than his young friend 
Richard, or else Dickey’s letter was sent without any parental cor¬ 
rections, while George’s was carefully corrected and then probably 
copied before it was sent. Certainly, these two letters make us wish 
that we knew more about this interesting boyhood. As a matter of 
fact, very few stories have been preserved and few records remain 
to tell us about George Washington when he was still a little boy. 

We know that his mother was an extremely forceful woman, 
with a high temper, which she had learned to control, and an inborn 
capacity for taking the lead. George’s father died when George was 
still a boy; so much of his training was due to his mother. Probably 
her truthfulness taught him respect for truth, and her firm rule 
developed his governing spirit. Certainly in those days, when women 
were so carefully protected, her courage and independence in manag¬ 
ing her own affairs after her husband’s death must have roused the 
admiration of her children and fostered their own pluck and daring. 

The young George Washington grew to be a large, powerful 
lad, with unusual strength of hand and great physical endurance. 



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The boys who grew up with him used to point out a spot on the 
banks of the Rappahannock where George threw a stone to the oppo¬ 
site shore, and no one else has been able to do it since. At any rate, 
he undoubtedly took part in all the out-of-door sports that were 
favorites with the boys of his age. Running, leaping, wrestling, 
tossing quoits, were probably forms of athletics that the young 
George enjoyed, and there is one story that has come down to us that 
proves him to have been a skilled horseman. 

The Washingtons had some very fine blooded horses, and among 
them there was a young sorrel that no one had been able to break. 
This spirited young animal was so handsome that it was a great fa¬ 
vorite of Madam Washington, although everyone said the horse was 
too vicious ever to be any good. Now, George was determined that he 
would break this horse; so he told his friends that if they would catch 
and hold it, he would ride it. With this in mind, the boys went out 
to the field one morning before breakfast. The horse was finally 
caught and bridled, and George leaped upon its back. Instantly the 

horse was off like mad, running 
round and round the meadow, 
jumping, rearing and plunging, 
but unable to shake its rider. 
Washington kept his seat, deter¬ 
mined to conquer the horse and 
tame it so that it would be docile 
and unafraid. But the little sorrel 
was wild with anger against this 
rider whom it could not shake. 
Finally, in a paroxysm of rage, it 
leaped into the air with such sud¬ 
den violence that it burst a blood 
vessel, and when it fell to the 
ground the beautiful animal was 
dead. 

The boys were dazed by this 









Heroes and Patriots 


301 



unexpected catastrophe, and had no time to collect themselves when 
they were summoned to breakfast. There Madam Washington, see¬ 
ing that they had been in the fields, inquired about her favorite sorrel. 
For an instant George hesitated, then we are told that he answered: 

“The sorrel is dead, madam; I killed himl” 

Madam Washington was undoubtedly as angry as she was 
grieved at this news, but she controlled her anger and said quietly: 

“I regret the loss of my favorite, but I rejoice in my son who 
always speaks the truth.” 



























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JPgfayette 

T AFAYETTE spent his life fighting for liberty, although he came 
into the world blessed with every advantage of family and for¬ 
tune. His family was the most aristocratic and powerful one in that 
part of the country. The family name was Motier, but it was the 
custom in those days to take the name of the estate, and the estate of 
the Motiers was La Fayette in Auvergne, the southern part of France. 
Little Gilbert Motier had a long string of names, but he always 
signed himself La Fayette, and it is by that name we know him and 
love him, although we have simplified the form of the word. 

The men of this distinguished family had all been soldiers, and 
all had died on the battle field. There was a saying that “the La- 
fayettes die young, but they die fighting.” With such a record, it 
was natural that the young Gilbert should have wished to live and 
die as gallantly as his ancestors. When he was eleven years old his 
mother decided it was time for them to leave the family estate and 
move into Paris. There, with their wealth and family traditions, 
the son of the house would not only have the advantages of the best 
schools, but of social position, as well. Lafayette soon became a fine 
horseman and an expert swordsman and grew into a vigorous and 
handsome young man. He was popular and much sought after. The 
death of his parents made him a very wealthy person for those days. 
He married young and life looked bright and free from care. 

Lafayette and his bride were often guests at the marvelous and 
















Heroes and Patriots 


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extravagant fetes given by Queen Antoinette. The luxury and reck¬ 
less waste of these spectacles, in contrast to the hunger and destitu¬ 
tion of the poor in Paris, stirred this fortunate youth to his old 
troubled wondering about the suffering of others less fortunate than 
himself. The more he saw of the idleness and wastefulness of the 
rich, the more sure he became that life was not given us to fritter 
away; that the fortunate should make themselves responsible for the 
less fortunate, and that without service life is worth nothing. Yet 
there seemed to be nothing for him to do in France just then, and in 
the midst of luxury he was unhappy and thoroughly out of sorts with 
his way of living. 

One night Lafayette met an Englishman, the Duke of Gloucester, 
and they fell into a conversation about England’s rebellious colonies 
in America. The more the Duke talked, the more the young French 
soldier became convinced that the poor colonists were right and 
England was wrong, and his heart burned with sudden longing to 
assist these people in the new world to win the freedom which he 
was convinced was their right. That very night he determined to 
assist them in some way, but he soon discovered that this was easier 
said than done. In the first place, it was an unpopular cause with 
his rich friends in Paris. They told him he owed his first duty to his 
own country and to his wife. Lafayette readily agreed to this, but 
said since his country did not need him at that time and his wife was 
amply provided for in every way, he felt free to leave France and 
offer his services to the colonists. Then his friends drew for him a 
terrible picture of life in the new world. They said there were no 
comforts, not even the bare necessities; and the people were fighting 
a losing battle and starving to death, besides. To all this Lafayette 
offered no reply. He knew it was quite possible that they were right, 
and felt that was all the more reason for him to hasten to America 
with his aid. 

He determined to take soldiers and furnish a ship, if necessary. 
He sought out Silas Dean, an American in Paris, and talked with 



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him. It must have been a thrilling moment for the American when 
this rich and influential Frenchman told him that he wished to go to 
Am'erica, with men and ammunition, and serve in the colonial army 
without pay, so long as he should be needed. Lafayette’s only condi¬ 
tion was that he would have to leave America if his king or his 
family summoned him; otherwise he was at the service of the colon¬ 
ists. To the discouraged American, representing his unfortunate 
countrymen in Paris, this offer must have seemed almost too good to 
be true, and it gave him fresh hope, as it did the American army 
when it heard the news. 

Lafayette’s generous decision was the beginning of untold diffi¬ 
culties. He could not speak a word of English, and to buy a ship and 
arrange all the details for such a venture as this was to be took time 
and the most careful planning. Meanwhile, discouraging news was 
being received. It was rumored that Washington’s army was almost 
annihilated, New York was burned, and the distracted colonists were 











































Heroes and Patriots 


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on the verge of complete ruin. In spite of these doleful tales Lafay¬ 
ette persisted, and finally landed in America, after six months of 
anxiety, discouragements and the wildest adventures. 

The manner of his landing was not at all what he had expected. 
His vessel, La Victoire , (The Victory), was driven from her course 
by a storm, and finally came to anchor off Georgetown, South Caro¬ 
lina. The French sailors knew nothing of this place, nor where to 
go ashore. Oddly enough, the first persons they saw in this “land of 
the free” were some negro slaves, in a small oyster boat. They acted 
as guides, and Lafayette, who had come to America to fight for the 
freedom of the people, was taken ashore by negro slaves. They led 
him to the house of their master, who was the mayor of the town and 
happened to be a Frenchman. You can imagine the delight of the 
mayor to welcome a fellow countryman of such distinction, and one 
who had come upon such an errand. Lafayette was entertained 
with such hospitality and kindness that he was charmed with the 
people and found it difficult to get away. However, he sent word to 
the American army that since he had made many sacrifices to join 
the colonists, he now wished to ask some favors in return. The favors 
he asked were as unusual as his sacrifices; he asked permission to 
serve without pay and to begin as a volunteer. Furthermore, he hoped 
it might be posible for him to be near General Washington. You can 
imagine how gratefully the colonists granted these requests, and La¬ 
fayette was soon a part of the American army, fighting for the libera¬ 
tion of the colonies from England. 

General Washington invited him to be a part of his “family,” as 
he called his camp, and this young Frenchman, only twenty years 
old, accustomed to every luxury, moved into a camp already suffering 
from insufficient food and clothing. There he endured, without a 
complaint, hardships that were taxing to the utmost those sturdy 
pioneers of the wilderness. The impression Lafayette received the 
first time he met George Washington, was never to be forgotten. He 
saw a man of great dignity, with a majestic countenance and a graci- 



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ous, kindly manner that had behind it strength and power. These 
two men became lifelong friends. 

Under Washington, Lafayette soon became a true son of America, 
in his willingness to endure suffering, hardships and dangers in the 
fight for freedom. Many stories are told of his gallantry in battle 
and of his generous spirit in the camp. In one engagement, though 
wounded in the leg, he sprang from his horse and led his men on, 
enduring everything that they endured, until the loss of blood from 
his injury forced him to stop. During the terrible winter at Valley 
Forge, when the men were almost naked and suffering from frozen 
feet and legs, Lafayette used his own money to procure for them 
such meagre supplies of clothing as could be obtained. 

Lafayette remained with the colonial army until the war was 
won, then he returned to France and lived through a stormy period 
in his own country. He fought always on the side of the oppressed, 
for the love of liberty, and he suffered much through his devotion 
to righteous freedom. He lived to be an old man, and he never 
ceased to be pleased by the gratitude and love of the American 
people. He was invited to come to the United States to lay the 
corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument near Boston. The 
tribute he received from the American people at this time he never 
forgot. Hundreds and hundreds of people had come to Boston to 
pay him homage, and when he looked out over the great throng, 
every face gazing at him with almost reverent affection, he was so 
touched that he turned away and wept. 

The old saying that “the Lafayettes die young, but they die 
fighting,” did not prove to be true of this great man. He lived to 
be seventy-six years old, and while he did not die fighting, no La¬ 
fayette had fought for a greater cause, and no one of them had lived 
a more unselfish, generous life. Lafayette seemed to have lived 
two lives, one for France and one for America, and when he died 
the whole world mourned, with these two nations, the loss of this 
great lover of liberty and freedom. 




Heroes and Patriots 


307 



The 'Boyhood of t Abraham fincoln 

A BRAHAM LINCOLN could scarcely have begun life in a 
poorer house than the little log cabin in which he was born. 
Set in the midst of a desolate bit of Kentucky land, lacking even a 
door to keep out the wind, the cabin was little more than a shelter 
from the rain and snow. Yet on February 12, 1809, a boy baby was 
born under this humble roof who was destined to grow up and take 
his place as one of America’s greatest and most deeply-honored 
leaders. 

The Lincoln family was a sturdy one, and the new baby proved 
to be a vigorous specimen, well adapted to survive the rough pioneer 
life to which he was born. Even the mother of the family could 
handle a rifle and defend her children and herself in the absence of 
the father, Thomas Lincoln. They were used to all sorts of dangers, 
endless hardships and little comfort. When Abraham, or Abe, as 
he was called, grew old enough to enjoy hearing stories, he loved 
nothing better than his father’s tales of adventure with the Indians 
and with the wild animals which threatened them on all sides. 

Thomas Lincoln, the father, was a brave man, but he had spent 
such a hard, roving life that he had never learned to read or write, 
and when he was married he could not even sign his own name. I Ie 
had a great respect for learning, however, and was eager to give his 



















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children the education he himself had missed. It was not easy to 
do, for the country boasted but few schools, and the Lincolns had 
little money to spend on books. There was a school four miles away, 
to which the Lincoln children trudged eagerly, carrying their dinner 
of hoe cake, which was all the dinner they ever had. There they 
learned to read and to write, to the great wonder and joy of their 
father, but their schooling was of short duration. 

When Abe was eight years old the family left Kentucky. The 
farm had not been successful, and Thomas Lincoln decided to move 
to Indiana, to see if he could better himself there. This was a 
pioneer journey, indeed. The father took most of their household 
goods by boat, while the mother set off on foot across the country with 
the children, and with two horses to carry the bedding. They were 
seven days on the road. Sometimes, when they grew very weary, 
they would take turns riding on the wagon-load of bedding, but for 
the most part they tramped sturdily on, camping under the stars at 
night, unafraid and uncomplaining. 

When the whole family was finally reunited in Spence County, 
Indiana, the first thing to be done was to build some kind of a house. 
Little Abe was only eight years old, yet he learned to swing his ax 
expertly, and he, too, helped with the building. The result could 
hardly be called a house; it was only a “half-faced camp,” which 
means a cabin with only three sides, the fourth being open. In this 
poor place the family struggled through the winter, and were bitterly 
cold in spite of the fireplace. When the spring came and the land 
was cleared, they began work on a real house, and the children were 
glad enough to share in the toil, remembering how cold they had 
been through the last long winter. Abe helped cut the logs, notch 
and fit them together, fill the crevices with clay and make those chief 
luxuries, a door and a window. Later he learned to make stools and 
a table, and by this time he could swing his ax with the precision of 
a man, and his muscles were as strong as iron. 

Years later, when he was President of the United States, he 
visited a hospital of wounded soldiers, and three thousand of them 



Heroes and Patriots 


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shook hands with him. Someone wondered that his arm could stand 
so tiresome an ordeal, and he laughed and said, “The hardships of 
my early life gave me strong arms.” With that remark he picked up 
a heavy ax that was lying on the ground, stretched out his arm full 
length from the shoulder and held the ax in a horizontal position 
without its even quivering. This was a remarkable feat of strength, 
and one which few men could perform, even for a moment. 

Having become so expert with his ax, the small Abe wished to 
learned to handle a rifle; so his father promised to teach him. This 
was not easy. Sometimes when the rifle would go off it would knock 
the small boy over, but he kept at it until he learned, and his first 
success was in shooting a fat wild turkey, a great triumph for Abe! 

Meanwhile, he was not forgetting his education. He read and 
re-read the Bible, the catechism and the spelling book, which con¬ 
stituted the family library. Writing he practiced with a charred 
stick on slabs of wood, and the interior of the Lincoln cabin was 
decorated with Abe’s handwriting on every smooth surface that 
presented itself. This sort of mural decoration probably did not 
meet with the approval of the adults in the family, but Thomas 
Lincoln had too much respect for “learning” to protest even at this. 

Candles were an expensive luxury, so Abe read by the light of 
the blazing log fire. As he read his three books, he grew hungry for 
























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more, but in that simple, struggling pioneer world they were rare 
treasures, and difficult to procure. 

Then suddenly Abe’s mother died, and the little family was left 
very desolate. Abe’s sister Sarah was only eleven, and not a very 
expert housekeeper. Abe and his father helped her in their awkward 
way, but soon the little cabin began to look untidy and neglected, and 
they all felt more and more forlorn. Abe missed his mother keenly, 
and probably Thomas Lincoln saw this and yearned to comfort the 
boy, for one night he returned with a package under his arm, which 
he put into his son’s hands. When Abe opened the parcel he found 
—treasure of all treasures—a book! It was “Pilgrim’s Progress” 
which his father had borrowed for him, and the boy’s delight knew 
no bounds. He was so hungry to read it he could not eat his supper, 
but poured over the book oblivious of everything else. When he 
finished it, he read it again and yet again, until he could tell it through 
and through. When his father saw how much pleasure this book 
had given the boy, he borrowed “Aesop’s Fables” for him, and Abe 
was equally delighted with this book. He read it so many times 
that he knew most of the fables by heart. Perhaps it was from these 
two master story-tellers, Bunyan and Aesop, that Lincoln drew his 
wonderful power of story-telling that made his conversations, when 
grown up, so vivid and memorable. 

After awhile, Thomas Lincoln began to fear his son was growing 
lazy, because he spent all his spare time reading. People said Abe 
was a queer one, always reading or scribbling! No one realized 
what books meant to that hard-working, keen-minded lad, dreaming 
dreams as he swung his ax, sitting up night after night to pour over 
the “Life of Washington,” which at the age of ten opened a new 
world to him. 

Then someone came into his life who understood him and gave 
him the sympathy and encouragement he needed. Thomas Lincoln 
married again, and the new stepmother brought comfort, brightness 
and affection with her. She was a widow, with three lively children 
of her own. Moreover, she had furniture and household goods, 




Heroes and Patriots 


311 


which soon transformed the cheerless cabin into a clean, comfortable 
abode. She took her step-children to her heart at once, made them 
new clothes and cooked good wholesome food for them. She seemed 
to understand Abe at once. The neighbors might call him lazy, 
but she knew better. She was anxious to help him, and when, for 
the first time, a school was opened in Indiana, she insisted that all 
the children should attend it, especially Abe. 

“It’s a good chance for you, Abe,” she said. “You ought to learn 
something about ’rithmetic as soon as you can,” and Abe eagerly 
agreed. 

This was the boy’s first real school with an educated teacher, and 
the schoolmaster found it a delight to teach a pupil so intelligent 
and so hungry to learn. 

“Abe is the best scholar I ever had,” said the schoolmaster to 
Thomas Lincoln. 

“That may be,” answered the father, “but I sometimes wish he 
liked work as much as he does a book. Work is more important in 
the backwoods than books.” 

“But Abe is not going to live always in the backwoods. He is 
going to make his mark in the world, I know.” 

And the master was right. That long, gawky, backwoods boy, 
hungry for an education, humble in the presence of learning, eager 
for knowledge—that boy pouring devoutly over the “Life of Wash¬ 
ing”—became America’s noblest President since Washington. 

—Adapted by May Hill. 






















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The fit tie Hero of Haarlem 

'Lj'AR across the sea there is a country called 
A Holland, which, unlike other countries, 
lies below the level of the sea. Now, you are 
probably wondering why the sea does not over¬ 
flow this country, as it does our marsh lands. 
It would, if the people of Holland had not 
long ago worked out a way of protecting their 
land from the sea. They built great sea walls, 
called dikes, so thick and strong that even the tremendous pressure 
of the sea can not batter them down. These dikes are as wide as 
roads, and the people watch them closely and repair the slightest 
weakness that appears anywhere. Even the little Dutch children 
know that any break in these walls would mean flood and disaster 
for the whole country; for the sea would sweep over the land, taking 
with it crops, houses, and the people themselves. 

Long ago there lived a little Dutch boy in the city of Haarlem, 
named Hans. One day Hans and his little brother Peter went out 
for a long walk. They strolled along by the great dike, and soon left 
the town of Haarlem behind them. They walked along through the 
fields, gathering flowers as they walked, and racing with each other, 
as boys like to do. After a while Hans climbed up the dike and sat 
there looking out to sea, while Peter played about on the bank at the 
front of the dike. Presently Peter cried: 

“Oh Hans, there is the funniest little bubble that keeps coming 
through the wall here!” 

“Bubble? Where do you see a bubble, Peter?” asked Hans, 
scrambling down from the dike to join his brother. 

“Here!” said Peter, and he showed Hans a tiny spot in the wall 
where a bubble of water was slowly forming and bursting, only to 
be immediately replaced by another one. 

“Why, Peter,” cried Hans in alarm, “it is a hole in the dike! 
















Heroes and Patriots 


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What in the world shall we do?” As he watched, the next bubble 
that formed was larger than the others, and after it, the water began 
to run in a tiny, trickling stream. 

Suddenly, hardly stopping to think what he did, Hans thrust his 
finger into this hole in the dike. Instantly, the water stopped; 
for his finger fitted tightly, and not so much as a bubble oozed 
through the crevice. This gave Hans an idea. 

“Peter, I will stay here and keep my finger in this hole, so it can¬ 
not grow any larger, and you run to town as fast as you can and bring 
help. Tell the people there is a hole in the dike, and they must mend 
it quickly or we shall be flooded.” 

Peter’s eyes grew big when he heard this, and he set off for 
Haarlem as fast as his small legs could carry him. Hans watched 
him go, his big, blue trousers flapping as he ran, his scarlet cap show¬ 
ing fainter and fainter as he disappeared in the distance. When he 
had vanished completely Hans turned to the dike. Already his 
finger ached a bit, and his hand felt numb. He rubbed it with his 
other hand. Then his arm began to ache, and he tried to rub that, 
too, and rest it, by supporting it with his other hand; but the ache 
grew until it was a pain that ran up his arm to his shoulder. 

“This is not very pleasant, but I must stand it,” said Hans to him¬ 
self, “for I must keep the sea out until the men come to mend the 
dike.” 

He tried to sing to himself, to see if that would make him forget 
the ache in his arm and shoulder. Instead, it somehow made him 
feel more alone. Plis voice sounded so faint out there, with the great 
fields stretching many lonely miles on one side of him, and the ocean 
pressing against the dike, with only his finger to keep it out. Hans 
felt very much like weeping, or pulling his little finger out of the 
hole and running. He looked across the fields, but there was not a 
human being anywhere in sight. The pain in his shoulder was 
creeping all the way down his poor little back. He moved a bit and 
leaned his shoulder against the dike, to see if that would ease the 



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strain a bit and relieve the pain. With his 
head against the dike he could hear the 
sea plainly on the other side of the wall. 
It slapped lazily against the dike, but it 
had a great, deep voice that seemed to be 
saying: 

“I am the Sea, I am the Sea, 

Who are you to stand against me?” 

“Well, I may be only a little boy,” thought Hans, “but I know 
well enough what I ought to do, and I am going to do it, too, Old 
Sea, no matter what you say.” 

And the deep murmur on the other side kept right on saying: 

“I am the Sea, I am the Sea, 

Who are you to stand against me?” 

Poor Hans! His whole body was growing numb from his 
cramped position and from the pressure against that poor, aching 
little finger of his. Still he could see no one across those lonely 
fields. He began to feel frightened. What if his strength gave out 
before the men came? But no! he told himself quickly, that could 
not be. Somehow he would have the strength to do this thing that 
would save Haarlem from the sea. He stamped up and down to 
ease the numbness, and then finally he leaned his head against the 
dike, closed his eyes and prayed to the dear Lord to give him strength 
to keep his finger in the hole until help came. 














Heroes and Patriots 


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Suddenly he heard a faint sound. He opened his eyes, and there 
across those desolate fields he could see figures. As they came nearer 
he saw that it was a great crowd of men, and as they ran they were 
shouting to him: 

“Bravo! Three cheers for Hans! Hold on, do not lose heart! 
Steady, boy, we are coming!” 

So they called to him across the fields, and he held on, aching in 
every inch of his body and tears of pain smarting in his eyes. He 
never remembered just what happened when they reached him. The 
next thing he knew the men had him in their arms. Some of them 
were tenderly rubbing his poor little hand and swollen finger, while 
the others worked silently and rapidly on the dike. 

When the hole in the sea wall was finally repaired, one of the men 
lifted the little boy high on his shoulders, and the others threw their 
caps up in the air and shouted: 

“Three cheers for Hans! Hans has saved Haarlem! Three 
cheers for Hans who saved the dike!” 

And Hans felt very pleased and a little foolish up there on the 
man’s shoulder, with all the others shouting about him, and he said: 

“Oh I did not do anything except keep my finger in the hole in 
the dike!” and they all laughed together. 

But from that day to this they tell you the story of the little boy 
who saved the dike, and they call him the little hero of Haarlem! 











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Uruce and the Spider 

HP HERE was once a king of Scotland whose name 
was Robert Bruce. He had need to be both brave 
and wise, for the times in which he lived were wild and 
rude. The king of England was at war with him, and 
had led a great army into Scotland to drive him out. 

Battle after battle had been fought. Six times had Bruce led 
his brave little army against his foes; and six times had his men 
been beaten, and driven into flight. At last his army was scattered, 
and he was forced to hide himself in the woods and mountains. 

One rainy day, Bruce lay on the ground under a rude shed, lis¬ 
tening to the patter of the drops on the roof above him. He was 
tired and sick at heart, and ready to give up all hope. 

As he lay thinking, he saw a spider over his head, making ready 
to weave her web. He watched her as she toiled slowly and with 
great care. Six times she tried to throw her frail thread from one 
beam to another, and six times it fell short. 

“Poor thing!” said Bruce; “you, too, know what it is to fail.” 

But the spider did not lose hope with the sixth failure. With 
still more care, she made ready to try for the seventh time. Bruce 
almost forgot his own troubles as he watched her swing herself out 
upon the slender line. Would she fail again? No! The thread was 
carried safely to the beam, and fastened there. 

“I, too, will try a seventh time!” cried Bruce. 

He arose and called his men together. He told them of his plans, 
and sent them out with messages of cheer to his disheartened people. 
Soon there was an army of brave Scotchmen around him. Another 
battle was fought, and the king of England was defeated. 

I have heard it said, that, after that day, no one by the name of 
Bruce would ever hurt a spider. The lesson which the little creature 
had taught the king was never forgotten. 



Baldwin: Fifty Famous Stories Retold. American Book Company. 












Heroes and Patriots 


31 ? 



What Peter Told the Stove 

SWITZERLAND is now such a peaceful, quiet little country that 
we are apt to forget that she has gone through some stormy strug¬ 
gles to win her freedom. There is a wonderful story told about a 
little Swiss boy who saved his city from the enemy, in the old days 
when Switzerland was governed by Austria. This happened long, 
long ago, and the boy’s name was Peter. 

Peter lived in the city of Lucerne, which was trying to free itself 
from the Austrian yoke. Switzerland had suffered greatly under 
Austrian rule, and part of the country, by desperate fighting, had 
managed to free itself. Lucerne was in a state of rebellion against 
the enemy, but it had not been able to shake off the hateful bondage, 
and the city was in a perilous position. Either it must carry its 
revolt through successfully, or the Austrians would recapture the 
city, and its condition would be worse than before. 

On a warm summer’s evening the boy Peter went swimming. 
After his swim he dressed himself, then he threw himself down on 
the bank and fell asleep. Presently he was startled by a curious 
sound near him. He listened, and soon became aware that men 













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were creeping stealthily along the ground near him. A bush con¬ 
cealed him, but by moving his head he could discern a strange pro¬ 
cession—men moving silently and cautiously through the dark, bent 
almost double, sometimes even crawling on hands and knees. They 
whispered to each other as they went, and what they said frightened 
Peter. He knew they were enemies of Lucerne, and he realized that 
he must follow them. 

He lay motionless behind the bushes until the last man had 
passed; then he, too, began to creep stealthily up the mountain after 
them. It was hard for him to follow; the night had grown dark, and 
he dared not keep too close, lest they hear him. Presently, however, 
he could see a tiny glimmer of light through the darkness, and this 
guided him. When he drew near he discovered that it was a ray of 
light from a cave, and into this cave went the strange men whom he 
had followed. Peter hesitated; it was possible that death waited for 
him within the cavern, but he knew he must go in. He crept along 
the walls of the cave, keeping out of the range of the light, until 
presently he was near enough to hear the voices of the men, who 
were seated in a group within the cave. To Peter’s astonishment, he 
recognized the voice of the leader—Jean de Walters—and this man, 
whom all the Swiss had believed to be loyal, was giving directions 
for the taking of Lucerne! The boy, crouching in the entrance of 
the cave, was filled with terror. He heard Jean de Walters, the 
traitor, planning a surprise attack upon Lucerne, and he heard plots 
for seizing and killing some of the citizens. Peter knew he must 
get back to the city at once. He began to move as noiselessly as 
possible, but suddenly a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he 
was dragged to his feet. 

“A spy, a spy!” shouted the hoarse voice of his captor. 

Instantly every man in that cave sprang to his feet and drew his 
sword, crying: 

“Kill him!” 

Peter was thrown violently into the cave, and when the light fell 



Heroes and Patriots 


319 


upon him the men drew back in amazement at the sight of a small 
boy, when they had expected a man. 

They surrounded him with gleaming swords, and scowled at him 
fiercely, demanding to know his name and how he came there. Poor 
little Peter was so frightened he could hardly speak, and he realized 
that the safety of Lucerne depended on him. 

“Please, sirs, I was only asleep on the bank, after my swim. Then 
I heard you go by, I saw the light, and I just followed you here.” 

He looked too little to be very dangerous, but one of the men 
said: 

“Were you sent here to spy upon us?” 

“Why, no, sir, of course not,” said Peter, and he looked so dazed 
and frightened they decided he had not heard much, and was too 
little to know what they were talking about, anyway. So the leader 
said to him: 

“If we let you go, instead of killing you as we ought to, will you 
promise us that you will not tell a living soul what you have seen or 
heard this night?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Peter, “I promise I will not tell a living soul 
what I have seen or heard this night.” 

“Very well, be off with you!” said the men, and the little boy 
went out of the cave and ran down the mountain as fast as his legs 
could carry him. 

As he ran, he thought about his promise. He knew he must warn 
the people of Lucerne or the city would be taken that night, but 
how could he warn them when he had promised not to tell to a 
living soul what he had seen. “A promise is a promise!” said Peter 
to himself, and he wracked his brains, as he ran, for a solution to this 
problem. Suddenly, as he neared the city, he laughed aloud, for he 
had thought of a plan. He went directly to the city hall, where a 
large number of people were gathered. You can imagine the sur¬ 
prise of those people when a small boy burst into the room, marched 
up to a big stove and cried out in a loud voice: 



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“Stove, Stove, I have much to tell you.” 

“All the people stopped talking and stared in amazement at the 
child as he continued: 

“Stove, stove, you must listen well to what I tell you. I have 
promised, on my life, not to tell this news to any living soul, so I 
can only tell it to you, Stove. But remember this: the safety of 
Lucerne depends upon what I am going to tell you. Are you ready 
to listen to me, O Stove?” 

By this time there was not a sound in the room, and the men of 
Lucerne were pressed closely and silently together, round the small 
figure of Peter, who stood staring straight at the big stove. Then, in 
his high childish voice, the little boy told the stove of the plot 
against Lucerne. When he had finished, there was no cheering for 
Peter, because there was not time for that. The men ran for their 
arms, the word went around Lucerne, and every citizen made ready 
for that midnight attack. 

So, when the Austrians swept down upon Lucerne that night 
they did not find the city asleep, but very much awake. A terrible 
battle took place, and the Austrians were repulsed. Lucerne won 
her freedom, and the citizens remember always that they owe this 
freedom to the news a little Swiss boy told the stove! 
















































































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The Sleeping ‘Beauty 

A play in three acts, and with prologue 
and epilogue. 



Characters— Prologue 


King 

Queen 

Princess 

Prince 


Six Fairies 
Dark Fairy 
Cook 
Scullion 

Characters—Epilogue 
Ladies of the Court 
Men at Arms 
Scene 


nPHIS play may be given in a drawing room or on any stage. 

Better still, it may be played out of doors against a background of 
trees and bushes. 

Use two screens to divide your stage space into three rooms, the 
throne-room in the middle to be the largest. The kitchen is fur¬ 
nished with two small tables and two stools for the cook and scullion. 
The throne-room has the throne for the King and Queen, and in the 
first act, a crib for the baby Princess. The tower room has a couch. 
The stage is set to begin with, and nothing has to be moved save the 
crib at the beginning and end of the first act. 

No curtain need be used. 

Prologue 

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen, who were very 
sorrowful because they had no children. One day a daughter was 
born to them and joy reigned throughout the kingdom. The King 
decided to give a great feast in honor of the baby Princess, so he 
invited many of his courtiers. He also invited six fairies who lived 
in his land because he hoped they would give the Princess their fairy 
gifts. Now there was a seventh fairy, but alas! the king forgot her. 
It was little wonder he forgot her, for she was a very ugly, bad- 
tempered person whom no one wished to remember. The day of 






Dramatizations 


323 


the feast arrived. The six fairies came, as the King had hoped. After 
the feast they gathered round the crib where the baby princess lay 
asleep, and what they said you shall hear for yourself. 

ACT I. 

Procession: Men-at-Arms (two of them bearing the royal crib), 
Ladies of the Court (one carrying the baby Princess, whom she places 
in the crib), King and Queen, last of all the Six Fairies, running 
and dancing. 

Sixth Fairy: “Your Majesties, we thank you for the feast. 
Now we wish to bestow upon the baby Princess our fairy gifts.” 

King: “Good fairies, you are most generous.” 

Queen: “Oh, gentle fairies, give to this little daughter of ours 
only good gifts. I pray you.” 

First Fairy: “Have no fear, we love babies.” 

Second Fairy: “The Princess shall receive only blessings from 
us.” 

Third Fairy: “We will protect her from evil.” 

Fourth Fairy: “Surround her with love.” 

Fifth Fairy: “And keep her in safety all her days.” 

Sixth Fairy: “Come, let us begin.” 

(They whirl and dance round the crib, coming one at a time to 
bestow their gifts.) 

First Fairy: “Little Princess, I give you health, that all your 
days may be lived to the utmost.” 

Second Fairy: “Little Princess, I give you wealth to do the 
bidding of your generous heart.” 

Third Fairy: “Little Princess, I give you beauty, that the world 
may be fairer for your presence.” 

Fourth Fairy: “Little Princess, I give you the great gift of 
friends.” 

Fifth Fairy: “Little Princess, I give you a generous heart to 
love your friends always.” 

Sixth Fairy: “Little Princess, I give.” 

The Dark Fairy interrupts. She wisks into the room angrily, 





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brushes past the Men-at-Arms, stamps her foot for silence and scowls 
blackly at the whole company. The Six Fairies move away from 
the crib and huddle together. The sixth one hides. 

Dark Fairy: “Silence, all of you! Why was I not invited to 
this feast?” 

King: “Oh, pardon us! We have not seen you for so many 
years, we had forgotten you.” 

Dark Fairy: “Indeed! Well I have not forgotten you. It seems 
I am just in time to bestow my gift upon the baby Princess.” 

Queen: “Oh, kind fairy.” 

Dark Fairy: “Silence! Mark well my words. 
When the Princess is fifteen years old, she shall prick 
her finger on a spindle and die!” 

(With that the Dark Fairy rushes away. The 
Men-at-Arms try to stop her, but in vain.) 

Queen: “Oh, good fairies, you who promised to 
protect the Princess, why did you allow this to hap¬ 
pen?” 

King and Men: “Oh, why indeed!” 

Sixth Fairy: “Your Majesties, we could not prevent the coming 
of our Dark Sister, but do not grieve. My gift has not yet been 
given. I cannot do away with this wicked charm, but I can change 
it. This shall be my gift to the Princess. When she pricks her 
finger on the spindle she shall not die, but fall into a deep sleep that 
shall last one hundred years.” 

All: “Oh, oh, a hundred years!” 

Sixth Fairy: “Yes, a hundred years! But at the end of that time 
a Prince shall awake her and restore her to you.” 

Queen: “Dear fairy, we thank you.” 

All the Fairies: “Farewell, oh King and Queen. Be of good 
cheer. The Princess shall not die.” 

They slowly disappear. 

The Queen rises and goes to the crib. 

Queen: “Our daughter shall not die!” 









Dramatizations 


325 


King: “But how terrible to sleep a hundred years! This must 
not happen. I will have all the spindles burned. Come hither, my 
men, send messengers into every part of my kingdom and say that 
the king commands the burning of every spindle in the land.” 

Men: “It shall be done, Your Majesty.” 

Exit Men. 

Queen: “Now the Princess is safe!” 

Kink: “I hope so with all my heart.” 

Departure of the King and Queen, Ladies of the Court, carry¬ 
ing the baby princess, Men-at-Arms, bearing the crib. 

End of Act I. 

Prologue. 

The fifteen years passed slowly by. The Princess grew from a 
baby into a little girl and from a little girl into a young maiden. 
Everyone loved her, from the King and Queen down to the little 
scullery boy in the kitchen. At last her fifteenth birthday came. 
What befell the Princess on that sad day, vou shall see for yourself. 

ACT II. 

Procession: Men-at-arms, Ladies of the Court, Princess, King 
and Queen. The Dark Fairy steals into the Tower room with a 
spindle in her hand. The Cook and Scullion enter the kitchen. 
While the Cook and Scullion are talking the Princess whispers to 
the Queen and presently wanders away. 

Cook: “Hurry, hurry, hurry! Scour your pots and kettles as 
fast as you can. There are a thousand things to be done.” 

Sculler Boy (drawling) : “Well, I am hurrying as fast as I 
can.” 

Cook: “Then hurry faster. Dear, dear, T11 warrant you do not 
even know what day this is.” 

Boy: “Indeed I do! Why everyone knows that. It is the birth¬ 
day of our dear Princess. She is fifteen years old.” 

Cook: “Well you are right for once. But remember this—we 
have to make ready the birthday feast and there is much to be done. 
Come now, take the bellows and blow the fire. Hi! you, put your 



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pots and kettles away. Quick there, get out your vegetables and go 
to work. Now bring me the spice box from the pantry. Butter from 
the dairy! Hi! you make haste!” 

(The scullery boy flies back and forth distracted. The cook 
bustles around in great excitement.) 

King: “Where is the Princess?” 

Queen: “She was here but a moment ago. She grew tried of 
the games and asked me to let her go. She is in her room, perhaps. 
I told her she must not go outside the palace.” 

King: “A wise plan. I shall be uneasy until the day is over.” 

Queen: “But all the spindles have been burned.” 

King: “All the same, I fear the prophecy and I shall be glad 
when the days is safely over.” 

Queen: “At least there are no spindles in the palace, of that we 
are sure. So as long as the Princess is in the palace she is safe.” 

Men-at-Arms: “Your Majesties, we have prepared a dance in 
honor of the Princess’s birthday. Will you see it now?” 

King: “With pleasure. Begin at once.” 

The Men-at-Arms and Ladies of the Court dance to soft music. 
When their dance is finished the Princess knocks at the door of the 
Tower room. 

Dark Fairy: “Come in.” 

Princess: “How do you do, goody?” 

Dark Fairy: “Very well indeed, thank you kindly.” 

Princess: “And what are you doing with that queer little 
thing?” 

Dark Fairy: “What am I doing? Why, I am spinning! And 
who are you that you do not know how to spin?” 

Princess: “Oh, I am the King’s daughter. But indeed, I have 
never seem anyone spin before. It looks very pretty. Do you think 
I could learn?” 

Dark Fairy: “How old are you?” 

Princess: “Just fifteen today.” 

Dark Fairy: “Then you are just old enough; I’ll teach you. 




Dramatizations 


327 


Princess: “Oh, thank you, I should like nothing better.” 

Dark Fairy: “Take the spindle in your hand like this.” 

Princess: “Oh! I have pricked my finger!” 

She falls back on the couch, the Dark Fairy smiles grimly, and 
spreads over her a beautiful coverlet. The princess sleeps! 

In the throne-room the King and Queen start up when the Prin¬ 
cess cries, but fall back on their thrones and slumber. The courtiers 
stare at each other stupidly and gradually sink to the floor and sleep. 

In the kitchen the little scullion drops a kettle, the cook starts to 
box his ears, but falls asleep with her head on the table. The little 
scullion drowses on the floor, his head pillowed on his arm. 

The Dark Fairy looks back at the sleeping Princess and walks 
softly from the Tower room, through the throne-room. She bows 
mockingly to the King and Queen. She goes through the kitchen, 
stepping over the scullery boy. She looks back at them all. Every¬ 
thing sleeps. She vanishes. 

End of Act II. 

Prologue 

The hundred years passed slowly by. Every year came many a 
brave Prince and tried to cut his way through the thick wall of 
thorns that had grown up around the palace. Every one of them 
had heard of the Sleeping Beauty in the woods, but no man could 
hew a path through that thick, sharp hedge. At last, at the end 
of the hundred years, came a brave young Prince with his sword 
in his hand and no fear in his heart. He stood outside that high 
wall and looked up and down. You shall hear for yourself what 
the brave Prince said. 

ACT III. 

Prince: “In spite of everything I am going to win my way to 
the Sleeping Beauty in the wood. 

The prince strikes the hedge a mightly blow. 

He slowly enters the kitchen and peers into the 
faces of the sleeping cook and scullery boy. 




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Prince: “This must be the kitchen, Why, 
here is the cook fast asleep. And here is the 
scullion. He does not wake even when I 
shake him.” 

(The Prince passes into the throne-room, 
stepping over the sleeping Men-at-Arms. He 
stops in front of the King and Queen, bowing 
low.) 

Prince: “Their majesties, the King and Queen. Alas! They are 
asleep too. How shall I ever waken them!” 

(He raises the King’s hand, lets it go and it falls. He tries in vain 
to prop up one of the Men-at-Arms.) 

Prince: “There is no use. The hundred years sleep is still on 
them. But where is the beautiful Princess? Alas! Suppose I find 
her and then cannot rouse her? But where is she? I must find her 
first and then I know I can waken her.” 

(He searches among the ladies of the court, but shakes his head.) 

Prince: “No, this is not she. Nor this. Nor this. Where can 
she be? I must search farther.” 

(The Prince enters Tower room and sees the Sleeping Beauty.) 

Prince: “It is she! It is the Sleeping Beauty!” 

(He kneels down beside the couch and kisses her hand. The 
Princess opens her eyes; life stirs in all the sleepers.) 

Princess: “Oh, you have come at last!” 

Prince: “Yes, and right glad I am to have found you.” 

Princess: “How long have I slept?” 

Prince: “A hundred years, dear Princess.” 

Princess: “It is good to be awake, I have slept so long. But 
where are my father and mother?” 

Prince: “I saw them sleeping on their golden thrones.” 

Princess: “Oh, come dear Prince, we must wake them too.” 

(Meanwhile, in the other rooms the wakening begins. The scul¬ 
lion drops his kettle and the cook boxes his ears.) 

Cook: “There, now, take that! Dear, dear, you are so slow the 







Dramatizations 


329 


dust gathers (sneeze). Ku-choo! Fetch a broom. Ku-choo! And a 
dust cloth. Ku-choo! Hi you, get to work quickly. 

Boy: “Yes, yes, I will (yawns). Dear me, 1 have certainly been 
asleep — but I’ll never tell the cook.” 

(In the Throne room the courtiers yawn and fan themselves, some 
begin to dance stupidly, while others make their bows. I he King 
stretches, the Queen rubs her eyes.) 

King: “My dear, you have been asleep.” 

Queen: “Pardon me, your Majesty, it is not I who have been 
asleep, but you.” 

A Court Lady: “Oh, oh! We have all been asleep!” 

A Man-at-Arms: “Asleep! Why, of course, it was the hundred 
years sleep, and now it is over!” 

Ladv: “The hundred years sleep, but where is the Princess?” 

Man: “Oh, look!” 

Lady: “It is our Princess.” 

Man: “And with her is the Prince.” 

All: “The Prince, the Prince, the 
Prince has wakened our Princess!” 

King and Queen: “Our daughter.” 

(The King and Queen arise, stretch¬ 
ing out eager hands of welcome. The 
Prince and Princess advance to the foot 
of the throne. The cook and the scullion 
peer in. The Prince bows low. 

Prince: “Your Majesties, the hun¬ 
dred years is over, and I have waked the 
Princess. May I have her for my 
bride?” 

King: “Noble Prince, you have saved 
us all from the long sleep, and as a reward 
you shall have the Princess for your 
bride and half the kingdom into the bar¬ 
gain.” 



































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Prince: “I thank you with all my heart.” 

Queen: “Come, let us make ready the marriage feast. The long 
sleep is over, and our daughter lives.” 

All: “The Princess, the Princess, our Princess lives!” 

(Wedding procession; Prince and Princess, King and Queen, 
Ladies of the Court with the Men-at-Arms, last of all the cook and 
the little scullery boy, the latter waving his apron joyfully.) 

End of Act III. 

Epilogue 

After the wedding of the brave Prince and the beautiful Princess, 
the Prince led his bride far away to his own country. There, I am 
told, they have lived happily ever after. 

The Prologue and Epilogue may wear long scarlet robes with flowing sleeves and 
hood attached like a cape. 

The King wears a royal purple robe over his white suit. The robe is bordered 
with ermine, made by crayoning the spots on white flannelette. He wears a golden 
crown, of course. We can all make those from gold paper. 

The Queen’s long robe is green and gold. Her golden crown is worn over a long 
veil that covers her head and falls below her waist. 

The Princess wears springtime colors; a delicate blue robe with overdress of pale 
pink. Her veil is white, her slender crown is silver. 

The Prince wears springtime colors. A pure white suit, his cape lined with yellow, 
a yellow plume in his cap (crepe paper makes charming plumes), a gold chain around 
his neck and a glittering sword at his side! 

The six good fairies wear light gauzy robes with long, floating sleeves. These 
long sleeves fly airily and take the place of wings. The good fairies are clad in fruit 
colors, shades of yellow, orange, peach, apricot, running into salmon pink. The Dark 
Fairy wears a dark blue robe that is the color of a thunder cloud. The fairies 
may change into Ladies of the Court in the second act, if you wish to omit the Ladies 
in the first act. When the fairies become Ladies, just slip a little pointed tan jacket 
over their robes. It holds their winged sleeves in place and they become Ladies at 
once. The Dark Fairy does not change, of course. She would not and could not be¬ 
come a lady. 

The Men-at-Arms wear dull blue trunks with beautiful armor made from gold 
and black paper. They carry long gilded spears and may even have shields. 

The cook is clad in white apron and cap. The little scullery boy has a rakish 
apron all red and white stripes like peppermint candy. But he has a tidy white cap. 



Dramatizations 


331 


The “Bremen zJXtusicians 



CHARACTERS 
Dog Cat 

Donkey Cock 

Robbers 



|^ONKEY (talking sadly to himself) : “Alack-a*day! How could 
my master treat me so ungratefully? I have served him faith¬ 
fully and well all the days of my life, but now that I am old he has 
cast me off, and how I am to earn my living is more than I can say. 1 
wonder how my voice is. (Tries it.) Hee-haw! Hee-haw! Hee-haw! 
Well, well, well, though I am poorly and weak, my voice is as strong 
and beautiful as ever. I know what I shall do. I shall go to Bremen 
and be a musician!” 

(DONKEY walks a little ways and meets a weary-looking Dog.) 

DONKEY: “Good-day, my friend, why do you look so down¬ 
cast?” 

Dog: “For a very good reason! I have been a good hunting dog 
in my day and have run many a mile for my master, but now that 
I am old and can no longer hunt, I heard my master say that he 
was going to get rid of me and get a new dog. So I have run away, 
but how I am going to earn my living, I do not know.” 

DONKEY: “Yours is a sad case, and much like my own. How is 
your voice?” 

Dog: “Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!” 

Donkey: “Excellent! You have a fine bass. Why don’t you 
join with me and we will go to Bremen and be musicians.” 

Dog: “That is a good suggestion, and I will go with you 
gladly!” 

(DONKEY and Dog journey on a few steps and meet a dejected- 
looking Cat.) 

Donkey: “Well, old Gray Whiskers! what is the matter with 
you?” 



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Cat: “Matter enough, I can tell you! I have been a good 
mouser in my day, but now that I am old, my teeth are blunt and I 
would rather rest by the fire. Yesterday I heard my mistress tell 
the gardener to drown me and get a young cat instead! So I have 
run away, but how I am going to earn my living I do not know.” 

DONKEY: “Your case is much like ours. How is your voice, 
my friend ?” 

Cat: “Meow, meow, meow!” 

Dog: “Oh, that is a fine voice, and I suppose you are in good 
practice from much serenading.” 

DONKEY: “At any rate, you might as well join us. We are 
going to Bremen to be musicians, and you may come too.” 

CAT: “That I will do with all my heart!” 

(DONKEY, Dog and CAT walk a few steps and meet the COCK, 
flapping his wings and crowing lustily.) 

Cock: “Cuck, cuck, cuck, cu-doo! Cuck, cuck, cuck, cu-doo!” 

DONKEY: “Brava! That is a fine voice you have, but why are 
you crowing so loudly?” 

COCK: “I am crowing while I have breath to. Every morning 
I have crowed at dawn, to tell my mistress the day has come, and yet 
I heard her tell the cook to make me into soup for the Sunday dinner. 
So I have run away, but how I am going to earn my living is more 
than I can say.” 

DONKEY: “With your voice it will be easy. We are going to 
Bremen to be musicians, and you may as well come with us.” 

Cock: “That I will do with all my heart. Let us start.” 

(Donkey, Dog, Cat and Cock travel on.) 

Dog: “It seems a long ways to Bremen. Look, there is a house 
off yonder. Perhaps we could spend the night there.” 

Cat: “The light from the window shows there must be people 
within.” 

COCK: “Let us be careful.” 

Donkey : “Come, my friends, let us see what kind of people 
dwell in this house.”- 



Dramatizations 


333 



(Donkey, Dog, Cat and Cock approach the house, stepping 

softly.) 

Dog: “The window is too high. I cannot see.” 

DONKEY: “I will look in and tell you what I see.” 

(DONKEY puts forelegs on window ledge and 
looks in, while his friends wait eagerly to learn 
what he has seen. Donkey returns to them greatly 
excited.) 

DONKEY: “I have seen a great sight, truly! Robbers have taken 
that house. The floor is filled with chests of gold and silver, and 
the robbers are feasting at a table covered with every good thing 
to eat!” 

Dog: “Oh, if I only had a bone!” 

Cat: “A saucer of milk would please me!” 

COCK: “And a few grains of corn for me!” 

DONKEY: “Well, let us put our heads together and think. 
Those robbers have no right to that house, and they are dangerous 
to have around, besides. We must drive them away.” 



















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“I have a plan! We’ll frighten them away.” 

(Donkey whispers to Dog, Cat and Cock. The 
DONKEY puts his forelegs on the window ledge, 
the Dog puts his paws on the Donkey's back, 
the CAT puts her paws on the Donkey's back and 
the Cock leans against the Cat's back and 
flaps his wings. At a signal from the DONKEY 
they all begin to sing at once:* 

Hee-haw! Hee-haw! 

Bow, wow, wow! 

Meow, mee-ow! 

Cuck, cuck, cuck, cu-doo! 

(The robbers flee from the house, and the MUSI¬ 
CIANS enter and take possession.) 

CAT: “This seems to be a very comfortable house. I am glad 
to see that warm fire.” 

Dog: “The dinner table interests me. Come, friends, let us 
first enjoy this excellent food.” 

(They eat.) 

Donkey: “Now, if only the robbers do not return, I believe 
we can live here very happily.” 

Dog: “We must be on guard to keep them away.” 

COCK: “I have enjoyed my supper, now I am going to roost 
up here and enjoy a good sleep. Good night, my friends.” 

Others: “Good night!” 

CAT: “I, too, am sleepy, so I shall curl up by the warm coals 
on the hearth.” 

Dog: “And I on the mat behind the door!” 

Donkey : “I saw a bed of straw just outside. I shall sleep 
there.” 

Everyone: “Good night.” 

(ROBBERS in the woods begin to talk. They have 
been resting from their fright.) 

ROBBER-CHIEF: “Perhaps we were frightened away too easily. 



Dramatizations 


335 


I should like to know what it was that made that terrible noise.” 

Man : “I will go back and try to find out.” 

CHIEF: “Good, my man, we will wait here until your return.” 

(ROBBER tiptoes to house and enters. Goes to fire¬ 
place. Tries to strike match on the eye of the 
CAT. She spits at him and scratches him. He 
runs through door and Dog bites him, DONKEY 
knocks him down and COCK cries out: “Cuck- 
cuck, cuck, cu-doo!” The robber in great fright 
returns to his companions.) 

Robber-Chief: “My poor man! You have evidently seen ter¬ 
rible sights. Tell us about them.” 

MAN: “I have seen nothing, but I have been in a dreadful 
place! Out in the kitchen an old witch scratched me with her long 
nails. Behind the door a man cut me with a knife. Out in the 
yard a giant beat me with a club, and worst of all, up on the roof 
a terrible creature cried out, ‘Cut the man in two! Cut the man 
in two!’ Oh, we can never go near that place again!” 

Chief: “Indeed we cannot! Come, let us get away before 
those dreadful creatures catch us.” 

(ROBBERS depart. Musicians meet and talk it over.) 

CAT: “He was easily frightened, wasn’t he?” 

Dog: “Yes, and I feel sure the others will never bother us 
again.” 

DONKEY: “We can stay right here, my friends, forever. Come, 
let us strike up a tune.” 

All: “Hee-haw, hee-haw!” 

“Bow, wow, wow!” 

“Meow, mee-ow!” 

“Cuck, cuck, cuck, cu-doo!” 

Stage Setting. 

The Bremen Musicians may be played out of doors or in a room, by the use of a 
few simple properties. A three-sided screen, painted to represent the doors and win¬ 
dows of a little house, can divide your stage. On one side will be the woods, where 



336 


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the Bremen Musicians meet and to which the robbers flee. On the other side the 
interior of the house will be represented by a table, stools, or benches, and a fire-place. 
When the Musicians make their music, outside the house, they burst in round the 
front of the screen, while the robbers flee from the back. 

Costumes 

The animal costumes consist of long flannelette pajamas, covering the feet. Hoods 
with little capes to cover the neck and appropriate ears attached, will make charac¬ 
teristic heads. Animal masks may be used, but are not necessary. 

Donkey—Gray flannelette pajamas, gray hood with long ears attached. Long tail. 
Dog—Brown flannelette pajamas, brown hood with drooping ears attached, brown 

tail. 

Cat—Black flannelette pajamas, black hood with short, stiff ears attached, long 

tail. 

Cock—White flannelette pajamas, ending at the knees, yellow stockings covering 
feet and legs, white hood with scarlet comb and gullet attached. This pajama suit 
should be left with kimona sleeves teaching to wrist. These may be cut in points and 
tied to wrist, and they will flap like wings when child waves his arms. 

Robbers—Khaki suits, red bandana handkerchiefs tied round necks, swords and 
pistols. 


May Hill. 











































































338 


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The Chinese plate looked very blue, 

And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do?” 
But the gingham dog and the calico cat 
Walloped this way and tumbled that, 
Employing every tooth and claw 
In the awfullest way you ever saw— 
And oh ! how the gingham and calico flew! 
(Don’t fancy I exaggerate! 

I got my news from the Chinese plate!) 

Next morning, where the two had sat, 

They found no trace of dog or cat; 

And some folks think unto this day 
That burglars stole that pair away! 

But the truth about the cat and pup 
Is this: they ate each other up! 

Now what do you really think of that! 

(The old Dutch clock it told me so, 
And that is how I came to know.) 


—Poem used by permission Charles Scribner’s Sons. 


Eugene Field. 


THE DUEL 


T HE gingham dog and the calico cat 
Side by side on the table sat; 

’Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) 
Nor one nor t’other had slept a wink! 

The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate 
Appeared to know as sure as fate 

There was going to be a terrible spat. 

(I wasn’t there; I simply state 
What was told me by the Chinese plate!) 

gingham dog went “Bow-wow-wow!” 

And the calico cat replied “Me-ow!” 

The air was littered, an hour or so, 

With bits of gingham and calico, 

While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place 
Up with its hands before its face, 

For it always dreaded a family row! 

(Now mind: I’m only telling you 
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) 





























Poems 


339 



THE CHILD’S WORLD 

G REAT, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, 

With the wonderful water round you curled, 

And the wonderful grass upon your breast, 

World, you are beautifully drest. 

William Brighty Rands. 


MY SHIP AND I 

O IT’S I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, 

Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; 

And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; 
But when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out 
How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. 

For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, 
And the dolly I intend to come alive; 

And with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go, 
It’s a sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow 
And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. 


Robert Louis Stevenson. 


















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THE SWING 

H OW do you like to go up in a swing, 
Up in the air so blue? 

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing 
Ever a child can do! 


Up in the air and over the wall, 
Till I can see so wide, 

Rivers and trees and cattle and all 
Over the countryside— 


Till I look down on the garden green, 
Down on the roof so brown— 
Up in the air I go flying again, 

Up in the air and down! 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 















Poems 


341 





“You are berry-brown, my dear.” 

“That, sir, well may be; 

For I live more than half the year, 
Under tent or tree.” 


Shine Sun! Blow Wind! 

Fall gently, Rain! 

The year’s declined, be soft and kind, 
Kind to Gypsy Jane. 

William Brightly Rands. 


GYPSY JANE 

S HE had corn flowers in her hair 
As she came up the lane; 
“What may be your name, my dear?” 
“O, sir, Gypsy Jane.” 


By permission Dodd, Mead and Co. 







342 


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CATKIN 

T HAVE a little pussy, 

And her coat is silvery gray; 

She lives in a great wide meadow, 
And she never runs away. 

She always is a pussy, 

She’ll never be a cat 
Because—she’s a pussy willow! 

Now what do you think of that!” 



THE LITTLE TRUMPETERS 

T MET the herald jonquils 
Amid the grass today, 

They trooped, the little trumpeters, 
In glad and green array; 

Each held a golden bugle, 

And each a spear of green, 

They said that they were messengers 
From April’s misty queen. 

Spring gave a swift direction, 

A hidden countersign,— 

Mayhap it was the bluebird’s pipe— 
They straightened up in line; 

There came a rushing whisper, 

A mystic, sudden breeze; 

It tossed their little horns on high, 
Their trumpets to the breeze. 


Margaret Montague. 















Poems 


343 



IGGLEDY, piggledy! see how they run! 
-“-Hopperty, popperty! what is the fun? 

Has the sun or the moon tumbled into the sea? 
What is the matter, now? Pray tell it to me 1 

Higgledy, piggledy! how can I tell? 

Hopperty, popperty! hark to the bell! 

The rats and the mice even scamper away; 

Who can say what may not happen today? 



“OHALL I sing?” says the Lark. 

^ “Shall I bloom?” says the Flower; 
“Shall I come?” says the Sun, 

“Or shall I?” says the Shower. 

Sing your song, pretty Bird, 

Roses, bloom for an hour; 

Shine on, dearest Sun, 

Ho! Away naughty Shower. 


P IPE thee high, and pipe thee low, 
Let the little feet go faster; 



Blow your penny trumpet—blow! 
Well done, little master! 


Kate Greenway. 







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THE TREE 

/ T'HE Tree’s early leaf-buds were bursting their brown; 
“Shall I take them away?”said the Frost, sweeping down. 
“No, leave them alone 
Till the blossoms have grown,” 

Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown. 




The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: 
“Shall I take them away?” said the Wind, as he swung. 
“No leave them alone 
Till the berries have grown,” 

Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. 



1 he Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow; 

Said the girl, “May I gather thy berries now?” 

“Yes, all thou canst see: 

Take them; all are for thee,” 

Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low. 
Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 



BiLUE. 

















Poems 


345 



FAIRY BREAD 

C OME up here O dusty feet! 

Here is my fairy bread to eat. 
Here in my retiring room, 

Children, you may dine 
On the golden smell of broom 
And the shade of pine; 

And when you have eaten well, 

Fairy stories hear and tell. 

Louis 


DIFFERENCES 

D ADDY goes a-riding in a motor painted grey, 

He makes a lot of snorty noise before he gets away; 

The fairies go a-riding w r hen they wish to take their ease, 

The fairies go a-riding on the backs of bumblebees. 

Daddy goes a-sailing in a jolly wooden boat, 

He takes a lot of tackle and his very oldest coat; 

The fairies go a-sailing, and I wonder they get home, 

The fairies go a-sailing on a little scrap of foam. 

Daddy goes a-climbing with a knapsack and a stick, 

The rocks are very hard and steep, his boots are very thick; 

The fairies go a-climbing (I’ve seen them there in crowds) 

The fairies go a-climbing on the mountains in the clouds. 

Rose Fyleman 



By Permission of George H. Doran & Company. 




















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For I have my little red rubbers on. 

They make a cunning three-toed track, 

In the soft, cool mud; quack, quack!” 

“I,” cried the dandelion, “I.” 

‘‘My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry.” 

And she lifted her little yellow head 
Out of her green and grassy bed. 

“I hope ’twill pour; I hope ’twill pour,” 

Croaked the tree toad from his gray bark door. 
‘‘For with a broad leaf for a roof, 

I’m always safely waterproof.” 

Sang the brook: ‘‘I welcome every drop, 

Come down, dear rain drops, never stop 
Until a broad river you make of me 
And then I will carry you to the sea.” 


Anon. 














Poems 


347 



o 


THE SEA SHELL 

S EA SHELL, Sea Shell, 

Sing me a song, O please! 

A song of ships and sailor-men, 

Of parrots and tropical trees; 

Of islands lost in the Spanish Main, 

Which no man ever may see again, 

Of fishes and corals under the waves, 

And sea-horses stabled in great green caves— 

Sea Shell, Sea Shell, 

Sing me a song, O please! Amy Lowell. 

By permission of Houghton Mifflin & Company. 



BLUEBELLS 

T HERE the bluebells and the wind are, 
Fairies in a ring I spied, 

And I heard a little linnet 
Singing near beside. 





Where the primrose and the dew are— 

Soon were sped the fairies all: 

Only now the green turf freshens, 

And the linnets call. 

Sontfs of Childhood Walter De La Mare. 

By permission of Henry Holt & Company. 













348 


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WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD 




NKEN, Blynken, and Nod one ni; 

' % Sailed off in a wooden sho 

» Sailed on a river of crystal light, 
knto a sea of dew. 

“Where are you going and what do you wish?” 

The old moon asked the three. 

“We have come to fish for the herring fish 
That Jive in this beautiful sea; 

Nets of silver and gold have we!” 

Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 

And Nod. 




v. 




V-f 




The old .moon laughed and sang a song, 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe, 

And the wind that s^ed them all night long 
Ruffled the waves of dew. 

The little stars were the herring fish 
That lived in that beautiful sea— 

“Now cast your net£ wherever you wish— 
Never afeard are we”; 

So cried the stars to the fishermen three: 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 















Poems 


349 







All night long their nets they threw 

To the stars in the twinkling foam— 

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 
Bringing the fishermen home; 

’Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed 

As if it could not be, p* * 

And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea— 

But I shall name you the fishermen three: 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 


Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed. 

So shut your eyes while mother sings 
Of wonderful sights that be, 

And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock in the misty sea, 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

By permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. 






ne Field. 














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SLEEPYHEAD 

A S I lay awake in the sweet moonlight, 
I heard a faint singing in the wood, 
“Out of bed, 

Sleepyhead, 

Put your white foot, now; 

Here we are 
Beneath the tree 
Singing round the root now.” 




I looked out of the window in the white moonlight. 
The leaves were like snow in the wood— 

“Come away, 

Child, and play 
Light with the gnomies; 

In a mound, 

Green and round, 

That’s where their home is.” 

“Honey sweet, 

Curds to eat, 

Cream and frumenty, 

Shells and beads, 

Poppy seeds, 

You shall have plenty.” 

But as soon as I stooped in the dim moonlight 
To put on my stocking and my shoe, 

The sweet shrill singing echoed faintly away, 

And the grey of the morning peeped through, 
And instead of the gnomies there came a red robin 
To sing of the buttercups and the dew. 

Walter De La Mare :Songs of Childhood 

By Permission of Henry Holt & Company 





















Poems 


351 




THE ROCK-A-BY LADY 

T HE Rock-a-By Lady from Hush-a-By street 
Comes stealing; comes creeping; 

The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, 
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet— 
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, 

When she findeth you sleeping! 

There is one little dream of a beautiful drum— 
“Rub-a-dub!” it goeth; 

There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, 
And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come 
Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, 
And a trumpet that bloweth ! 


And follies peep out of those wee little dreams 
With laughter and singing; 

And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, 

And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, 
And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, 
The fairies go winging! 


Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? 

They’ll come to you sleeping; 

So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, 

For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hush-a-By street, 

With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, 

Comes stealing; comes creeping. 

By permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. EUGENE FlELD. 



















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OLD GAELIC LULLABY 

H USH! the waves are rolling in, 

White with foam, white with foam; 
Father toils amid the din; 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,— 
On they come, on they come! 

Brother seeks the wandering sheep: 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the rain sweeps o’er the knowes, 
Where they roam, where they roam; 
Sister goes to seek the cows; 

But baby sleeps at home. 

Unknown. 

_ 

































































































































































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353 



And sometimes for an hour or so 
I watched my leaden soldiers go, 

With different uniforms and drills 
Among the bedclothes, through the hil 

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets 
All up and down among the sheets; 

Or brought my trees and houses out, 

And planted cities all about. 

I was the giant great and still 
That sits upon the pillow-hill, 

And sees before him dale and plain, 
The pleasant Land of Counterpane. 


Robert Louis Stevenson. 

























































FOREIGN LANDS 



TP into the cherry tree 
^ Who should climb but little me! 
I held the trunk with both my hands 
And looked abroad on foreign lands. 

I saw the next door garden lie, 

Adorned with flowers, before my eye, 
And many pleasant places more 
That I had never seen before. 

I saw the dimpling river pass 
And be the sky’s blue looking-glass; 
The dusty roads go up and down 
With people tramping into town. 

If I could find a higher tree 
Farther and farther I should see, 

To where the grown-up river slips 
Into the sea among the ships, 

To where the roads on either hand 
Lead onward into fairy-land, 

Where all the children dine at five, 

And all the playthings come alive. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 




































Poems 


355 


THE LAMPLIGHTER 


M Y TEA is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky; 

It’s time to take the window and see Leerie going by; 
For every night at tea-time and before you take your seat, 
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street. 


Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea; 

And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be; 

But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do, 

O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you! 



For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, 

And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; 

And oh ! before you hurry by with ladder and with light, 

O Leerie see a little child and nod to him tonight! 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



THE BALLOON MAN 


H E always comes on market days, 

And holds balloons—a lovely bunch— 
And in the market square he stays, 

And never seems to think of lunch. 


They’re red and purple, blue and green, 

And when it is a sunny day 
Though carts and people get between 
You see them shining far away. 

And some are big and some are small, 

All tied together with a string, 

And if there is a wind at all 

They tug and tug like everything. 

Some day perhaps he’ll let them go 
And we shall see them sailing high, 

And stand and watch them from below. 

They would look pretty in the sky! 

From “Fairies and Chimneys ” 

Rose Fyleman. 

Poem used by permission of George H. Doran Company. 









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THE MONTHS 

ANUARY brings the snow, 
Makes our feet and fingers glow. 

February brings the rain, 

Thaws the frozen lake again. 



March brings breezes loud and shrill, 
Stirs the dancing daffodil. 

April brings the primrose sweet, 
Scatters daisies at our feet. 

May brings flocks of pretty lambs, 
Skipping by their fleecy dams. 

June brings tulips, lilies, roses, 

Fills the children’s hands with posies. 

Hot July brings cooling showers, 
Apricots and gillyflowers. 

August brings the sheaves of corn, 
Then the harvest home is borne. 

Warm September brings the fruit, 
Sportsmen then begin to shoot. 

Fresh October brings the pheasant, 
Then to gather nuts is pleasant. 

Dull November brings the blast, 

Then the leaves are whirling fast. 

Chill December brings the sleet, 
Blazing fire and Christmas treat. 

Old Rhyme. 



































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357 



“Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, 
Sing thy songs of happy cheer.” 


So I sang the same again, 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

“Piper, sit thee down and write, 
In a book that all may read.” 

So he vanished from my sight, 
And I plucked a hollow reed. 

And I made a rural pen; 

And I stained the water clear 
And I wrote my happy songs 
Every child may joy to hear. 


William Blake. 








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359 


AUTUMN FIRES 

I N the other gardens 
And all up the vale, 

From the autumn bon-fires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 

And all the summer flowers, 
The red fire blazes, 

The grey smoke towers. 

Sing a song of seasons! 

Something bright in all! 
Flowers in the summer, 

Fires in the fall! 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



WHAT THE WINDS BRING 


W HICH is the Wind that brings the cold? 

The North-Wind, Freddy, and all the snow; 
And the sheep will scamper into the fold 
When the North begins to blow. 


Which is the Wind that brings the heat? 

The South-Wind, Katy; and corn will grow, 
And peaches redden for you to eat, 

When the South begins to blow. 


Which is the Wind that brings the rain? 

The East-Wind, Arty; and farmers know 
The cows come shivering up the lane, 

When the East begins to blow. 

Which is the Wind that brings the flowers? 

The West-Wind, Bessy; and soft and low 
The birdies sing in the summer hours, 

When the West begins to blow. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 

By permission of Houghton. Mifflin & Company. 

























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Once there was a snowman, 
Stood outside the door, 
Thought he’d like to come inside 
And play about the floor; 

Thought he’d like to warm himself 
By the firelight red; 

Thought he’d like to climb up 
In the big white bed. 

So he called the North Wind: 

“Help me now, I pray, 

I’m completely frozen 
Standing here all day!” 

So the North Wind came along 
Blew him in the door 
Now there’s nothing left of him 
But a puddle on the floor. 


Unkown. 
















































































































Poems 


361 


WINTER-TIME 

L ATE lies the wintry sun a-bed, 

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; 
Blinks but an hour or two; and then 
A blood-red orange, sets again. 



Before the stars have left the skies, 

At morning in the dark I rise; 

And shivering in my nakedness, 

By the cold candle, bathe and dress. 

Close by the jolly fire I sit 
To warm my frozen bones a bit; 

Or with a reindeer-sled, explore 
The colder countries round the door. 

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap 
Me in my comforter and cap; 

The cold wind burns my face, and blows 
Its frosty pepper up my nose. 


Black are my steps on silver sod; 

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; 

And tree and house, and hill and lake, 

Are frosted like a wedding cake. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 




































































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Drift the flying snow! 

Send it twirling, whirling overhead! 
There’s a bedroom in a tree 
Where, snug as snug can be, 

The squirrel nests in his cosy bed. 

Shriek, wind, shriek! 

Make the branches creak! 

Battle with the boughs till break o’ day! 

In a snow-cave warm and tight, 
Through the icy winter night, 

The rabbit sleeps the peaceful hours away. 


Call, wind, call, 

In entry and in hall, 

Straight from off the mountain white and wild! 

Soft purrs the pussy-cat 
On her little fluffy mat, 

And beside her nestles close her furry child. 

Scold, wind, scold, 

So bitter and so bold! 

Shake the windows with your tap, tap, tap! 

With half-shut, dreamy eyes 
The drowsy baby lies 
Cuddled closely in his mother’s lap. 

Mary F. Butts. 













Poems 


363 



I WISH I lived in a caravan, 

With a horse to drive, like the pedlar-man! 

Where he comes from nobody knows, 

Or where he goes to, but on he goes! 

His caravan has windows two, 

And a chimney of tin, where the smoke comes through; 
He has a wife, with a baby brown, 

And they go riding from town to town. 


Chairs to mend, and delf to sell! 

He clashes the basins like a bell; 

Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order, 

Plates with the alphabet round the border! 

The roads are brown, and the sea is green, 
But his house is just like a bathing machine; 
The world is round, and he can ride, 
Rumble and splash, to the other side! 

With the pedlar-man I should like to roam, 
And write a book when I came home; 

All the people would read my book, 

Just like the travels of Captain Cook! 

By permission Dodd, Mead and Co. 



William Brighty Rands. 


























































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And my heart is like a rythme, 

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. 


The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry 
Of bugles going by. 

And my lonely spirit thrills 

To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. 

There is something in October sets the Gypsy blood astir; 

We must rise and follow her, 

When from every hill of flame 

She calls and calls each vagabond by name. Bliss Carman. 

—By permission of Small, Maynard & Company. 







Poems 


365 



WANDER-THIRST 


B EYOND the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea, 

And East and West the wander-thirst that will not let me be; 
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say goodbye; 

For the sea calls, and the stars, call, and oh! the call of the sky. 


I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are, 
But a man can have the sun for a friend, and for his guide a star; 
And there’s no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard, 

For the river calls, and the road calls, and oh! the call of a bird. 


Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day 
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away; 

And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why, 

You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and 
the sky! 


Gerald Goulp. 


By permission of Mitchell Kennerlay, Publisher. 



•JOG ON, JOG ON 

J OG on, jog on the foot path-way, 
And merrily hent the stile-a, 
Your merry heart goes all the day, 
Your sad tires in a mile-a. 


Shakespeare 






















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TARTARY 

T F I were Lord of Tartary, 

Myself and me alone, 

My bed should be of ivory; 

Of beaten gold my throne; 

And in my courts would peacocks flaunt, 

And in my forests tigers haunt, 

And in my pools great fishes slant 
Their fins athwart the sun. 

If I were Lord of Tartary, 

Trumpeters every day 
To every meal should summon me, 

And in my courtyard bray; 

And in the evening lamps would shine, 

Yellow as honey, red as wine, 

While harp and flute and mandolin 
Made music sweet and gay. 

If I were Lord of Tartary, 

I’d wear a robe of beads, 

White and gold and green, they’d be—- 
And clustered thick as seeds; 

And ere should wane the morning star, 

I’d don my robe and scimitar, 

And zebras seven should draw my car 
Through Tartary’s dark glades. 

Lord of the fruits of Tartary, 

Her rivers silvery pale! 

Lord of the hills of Tartary, 

Glen, thicket, wood and dale! 

Her flashing stars, her scented breeze, 

Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas, 

Her bird-delighting citron trees, 

In every purple vale! 

Walter de la Mare. 

Poems of Childhood. 

By permission of Henry Holt & Company. 











































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367 



A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast, 

And fills the white and rustling sail 
And bends the gallant mast; 

And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While, like the eagle free, 

Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
Old England on the lee. 

O for a soft and gentle wind! 

I heard a fair one cry; 

But give to me the snoring breeze 
And white waves heaving high; 

And white waves heaving high, my lads, 

The good ship tight and free— 

The world of waters is our home, 

And merry men are we. 

There’s tempest in yon horned moon, 

And lightning in yon cloud; 

But hark the music, mariners! 

The wind is piping loud; 

The wind is piping loud, my boys, 

The lightning flashes free— 

While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

Allan Cunningham. 

Poem used by permission of Mitchell Kennerley. 













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THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT 

T HE Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea 
In a beautiful pea-green boat; 

They took some honey, and plenty of money, 
Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 

The Owl looked up to the stars above, 

And sang to a small guitar. 

“O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love, 

What a beautiful Pussy you are, 

You are, 

You are! 

What a beautiful Pussy you are!” 

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl, 

How charmingly sweet you sing! 

Oh! let us be married; too long we have tarried; 

But what shall we do for a ring?" 

They sailed away, for a year and a day, 

To the land where the bong-tree grows; 

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood, 

With a ring at the end of his nose, 

His nOse, 

His nose, 

With a ring at the end of his nose. 

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling 
Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.” 

So they took it away, and were married next day 
By the Turkey who lives on the hill. 

They dined on mince, and slices of quince, 

Which they ate with a runcible spoon; 

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 

They danced by the light of the moon, 

The moon, 

The moon, 

They danced by the light of the moon. 


—Edward Lear. 


















































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‘David and Qoliath 

T^HERE was an old man, called Jesse, who had eight sons, and 
the youngest of these sons was called David. There was a war 
in that country, and Saul, the king, sent out his army against the 
enemy, the Philistines. Jesse’s oldest sons followed Saul to war, 
but David, who was but a lad, remained at home, to feed his father’s 
sheep. One day Jesse called David unto him, and said: 

“Go, now, to Saul’s camp, and take to thy brethren an ephah of 
this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and run to the camp of thy 
brethren quickly. Take, also, these ten cheeses unto the captain of 
their thousand, and look how thy brethren fare, and bring me word 
of them.” 

So David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a 
keeper, and set off, as Jesse had commanded him, to find his brethren 
in Saul’s camp. When he came to the end of his journey, he found 
the army in battle array, drawn up on the top of a hill, facing the 
Philistines. David ran in among Saul’s army, searching for his 
brethren, and when he found them, he saluted them and gave to 
them his father’s gifts. But, while they talked together, behold, 
there came up from among the Philistines a great giant, Goliath 
by name, and he had a helmet of brass upon his head, and he was 
armed with a coat of mail. He had greaves of brass upon his legs, 
and a target of brass between his shoulders. His spear was like a 
weaver’s beam, and one went before him, bearing his shield. And 
he stood and cried out to the army of Israel, which was Saul’s army, 
saying: 















Prayers and Bible Stories 


371 


“Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am I not a 
Philistine, and you the servants of Saul? Let us put away now our 
armies, and instead, choose you a man for you, and let him come 
down and fight with me. If he be able to kill me, then, will we be 
your servants, but if I prevail against him, then must ye be our 
servants.” 

Now when the men of Israel heard this, they were sore afraid, 
for there was not one amongst them that dared to go out against 
Goliath, but one of the men whispered to David, saying: 

“Have ye seen this man that is come up? Surely it is to defy 
Israel that he is come up. No man have we who durst go out against 
him, and yet, the king hath promised to enrich greatly the man who 
killeth this giant, and to give him his daughter in marriage.” 

“Then why goeth not some man from among you to slay this 
Philistine?” asked David. 

His brothers were wroth with him, that he should speak so, and 
Eliab, the eldest brother, cried out against him, saying: 

“Why earnest thou down hither, and with whom hast thou left 
our father’s sheep? I know thy pride and the naughtiness which is 
in thy heart; for thou art come down because thou hopest to see a 
battle.” 

And David answered: “What have I done now? Is there not 
a cause? I would fight this Philistine gladly, if the king would 
but have me.” 

When these words were heard which David spoke, the men car¬ 
ried them quickly to the king, and Saul sent for David. When 
David stood before the king, he cried out: 

“Let no man’s heart fail because of Goliath. Thy servant will 
go, even now, and fight with this Philistine.” 

But when Saul’s eyes fell upon David, he answered: “Thou 
art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him. Why, 
thou art but a youth, and he is a man of war.” 

Then spake David: “I may be but a youth, but when thy servant 
kept his father’s sheep, there came a lion and a bear, and took a 



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young sheep out of the flock. And I went out after him, and smote 
him and delivered it out of his mouth. And when he rose up against 
me, I caught him by his beard and smote him and slew him. Thy 
servant slew the lion and the bear. And this bold Philistine shall 
be as the lion or the bear; for he hath defied the armies of the living 
God, and I will slay him. The Lord hath delivered me out of the 
paw of the lion and of the bear; he will deliver me also out of the 
hand of the Philistine.” 

Now Saul was glad within him when he heard these words that 
David spake, and he said unto him: “Thou shalt w*ear my own 
armour into battle against this Philistine.” And Saul armed David 
with his armour. He put a helmet of brass upon his head, and he 
armed him with a coat of mail. And David girded on the king’s 
sword and assayed to go forth, but it felt strange to him and he liked 
not the newness of it, and he said unto the king: 

“I cannot wear thy armour, for I have not proved it. As I came to 
thy camp, so will I go against this Goliath.” 

Then David took his staff in his hand and his sling also. He 
chose five smooth stones from out of the brook, and put them in his 
shepherd’s bag, which he had with him, and he drew near to the 
Philistine. 

Now the Philistine, which was called Goliath, came before him 
clad all in shining armour, and one walked before him bearing his 
shield. When the giant looked about him and saw only a shepherd 
lad, young, ruddy and fair of countenance, he disdained him and 
cried: 

“Am I a dog that thou comest against me with sticks and stones? 
Come to me, and I will quickly give thy flesh unto the fowls of the 
air and thy body to the beasts of the field.” 

Then answered David: “Thou comest to me armed with a sword, 
and with a spear, and with a shield, but I come to thee in the name 
of the Lord God of hosts, whom thou hast defied. This day will 
the God of Israel deliver thee into my hands, and I will smite thee. 
Thou cometh against me trusting in thy armour and thy strength, 



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but I come against thee, trusting in the God of our people. And 
all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not hy the sword 
and the spear; for the battle is the Lord’s.” 

At this the Philistine rose and drew nigh unto David, to kill 
him with his mighty sword. And David ran towards him to meet 
him, but as he ran he put his hand in his bag and took thence a 
stone, and put it in his sling and hurled it at Goliath. This pebble 
from the brook smote the Philistine in the forehead, and sank into 
his forehead, so that he fell upon his face to the earth and was dead. 
So David prevailed over Goliath with a sling and with a stone, and 
there was no sword in the hand of David. Then when the Philis¬ 
tines saw their champion was dead, they fled away and troubled the 
army of Israel no more. 

Saul remembered now his promise, and gave unto David great 
riches and the fairest of his daughters to be his wife. 

—Adapted by May Hill 















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l 


m 

A 


ICO 


‘Prayers for Every Pay 

Father, we thank Thee for the night, 
And for the pleasant morning light; 

For rest and food and loving care, 

And all that makes the day so fair. 

Help us to do the things we should, 

To be to others kind and good; 

In all we do in work or play, 

To grow more loving every day. 


God is Love; 

God is Good; 

And we thank Him 
For our food. 


Father of all, in Heaven above, 

We thank Thee for Thy love; 

Our food, our home and all we wear, 
Tell of Thy loving care. 


FOR THREE THINGS 

Dear Lord, for these three things I pray; 
To know Thee more clearly, 

To love Thee more dearly, 

To follow Thee more nearly, 

Every day. 






Father of all, we thank Thee for this day. Help us to meet it with 
joy, and to do with courage and gladness all those tasks which a good 
day brings. Help us to feel Thy love and strength supporting us, and 
to know that with Thee all things are possible. 







































































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Joseph and His Brethren 

PART I. THE DREAMER 

JACOB was an old man and dwelt in Hebron. 

The Lord had dealt graciously with Jacob, and 
had prospered his flocks and his herds, but of all 
his riches he was most blessed in his twelve sons. 
They were all well pleasing to their father, but 
Jacob loved Joseph more than all his other chil¬ 
dren, because he was the son of his old age, and 
Jacob made this well loved son a coat of many 
colors. When the brothers saw this coat they hated Joseph, because 
they knew that their father loved him more than he loved them. 
They could not speak peaceably to Joseph, and they plotted how 
they might bring misfortune upon him. 

Now, Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it to his brethren: 

“Hear, I pray thee, this dream which I have dreamed. For, 
behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and lo, my sheaf arose 
and stood upright; and behold, thy sheaves stood round about, and 
made obeisance to my sheaf.” 

Great anger came upon his brethren when they heard this dream, 
and they cried out upon him, saying: 

“Shalt thou, indeed, reign over us? Shalt thou, indeed, have 
dominion over us?” and they hated him the more for his dream. 

Then Joseph dreamed another dream, and told it to his brethren, 
saying: 

“Behold, I have dreamed yet another dream; and behold, the 
sun, and the moon, and the eleven stars made obeisance to me.” 
And he told this dream to his father and to his brethren. His father 
rebuked him saying: 

“Shall thy brethren, and thy mother and I, indeed, come to bow 
down before thee? Thou hast dreamed a foolish dream!” but Jacob 
marked well this dream of Joseph, his son, while the brethren hated 
the lad yet more. 












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PART II. SOLD INTO SLAVERY 

Now it came to pass that the brethren went to feed their father's 
flock in Shechem, and Jacob said unto Joseph, his son: 

‘‘Go, I pray thee, and find thy brethren. See whether it be 
well with them, and with the flocks, and bring me word again.” 

And Joseph answered: “Here am I,” and set off forthwith. 

Now they saw him coming while he was yet afar off, and they 
conspired together to kill him, and they said one to another: 

“Behold, this dreamer cometh; he who saith that we shall all 
bow down to him! Come, therefore, let us slay him and cast him 
into some pit. Then will we tell our father that wild beasts did 
devour him.” 

But one brother, Reuben by name, said: 

“Let us not kill him; let us shed no blood. Instead, let us cast 
him into a pit and there leave him.” This said Reuben, thinking 
to save Joseph from them; and then he would bring him from the 
pit, and restore him to his father. The brethren were persuaded 
to do this thing, and Reuben left them for a space. 

So when Joseph came unto his brethren, they stripped him of 
his coat of many colors and cast him into an empty pit. Then they 
sat them down to eat bread. But while they did eat, lo, a company 
of Ishmaelites came down from Gilead with their camels, bearing 
spicery, balm and myrrh to Egypt. And Judah, another of the 
brethren, said: 

“What profit is it if we slay our brother and conceal his blood? 
Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites for a slave; then his blood 
will not be on our hands.'’ And his brethren were content. They 
drew Joseph out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for 
twenty pieces of silver, and the caravan of the Ishmaelites bore 
Joseph out of the land of his brethren, down into Egypt. 

Then cometh Reuben unto the brethren, and seeing the pit was 
empty, said unto them: 

“Where now have ye put Joseph our brother?” When they told 
him they had sold Joseph for a slave unto the Ishmaelites, Reuben 




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rent his clothes and wept, saying: “The child is not, and I, whither 
shall I go?” 

The brethren took Joseph’s coat of many colors and dipped it in 
the blood of an animal they had killed. Then they bore it to Jacob, 
their father, saying: 

“This coat, stained with blood, have we found; tell us, is it thy 
son’s coat?” 

When Jacob saw the coat he had made for Joseph all covered 
over with blood, he cried out in a loud voice: 

“It is, indeed, the coat of Joseph, my son. An evil beast hath 
devoured him. Without doubt, Joseph hath been killed!” 

Then the aged Jacob rent his clothes with grief, and mourned 
for his son for many days. All his sons and all his daughters rose 
up to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted, and he said: 

“I will go down into my grave mourning for my son Joseph!" 
thus his father wept for him. 

PART III. THE DREAMER IN EGYPT 

Joseph was brought down into Egypt by the Ishmaelites. There 
Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh, the king, bought Joseph for a slave. 
Joseph prospered in Potiphar’s household, until there was one who 
did him a great wrong. Because of this, Joseph was cast into prison, 
















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and he was put into that prison where the king’s prisoners were 
bound. 

Here, also, the Lord was with Joseph, and the keeper of the 
prison showed favor unto Joseph, and made him head of all his 
work. The keeper of the prison looked not to anything that was 
under his hand, for Joseph did well in all things. Now, it came to 
pass that Pharaoh’s butler and his baker offended against their king, 
and were cast into that same prison where Joseph was also. 

One night they dreamed a dream both of them, and the next day 
when Joseph came upon them, behold, they were sad, and he said 
unto them: “Wherefore, look ye so sadly to-day?” 

They answered each of them: “We have dreamed a dream this 
night, and there is no one to interpret this dream.” 

“The interpretation of a dream is with God. Tell me, then, your 
dream, for it may be that God will give me to know the meaning 
of it.” 

The chief butler of Pharaoh told his dream, saying: “In my 
dream, behold, a vine was before me, with three branches. As I 
looked, it began to bud and blossom, and the clusters thereof brought 
forth ripe grapes. I took the grapes, and I pressed the juice of them 
into Pharaoh’s cup, and I gave the cup into Pharaoh’s own hand.” 

Then answered Joseph: “This is the meaning of thy dream. 
The three branches are three days. Within three days Pharaoh, 
the king, shall restore thee to thy place in his household. Thou shalt 
once more bear Pharaoh’s cup unto him and serve him in thy former 
manner. When it is thus well with thee, think on me, I pray thee. 
For indeed, I was stolen away out of the land of the Hebrews, and 
in Egypt I have been wrongfully accused. I have done nothing that 
I should now be in this dungeon.” 

The chief baker of the king heard all this, and when he heard 
that the interpretation of the butler’s dream was good, he said unto 
Joseph: “Hear now, this dream of mine, and tell me what is the 
meaning of it. In my dream, behold, I had three white baskets on 
my head. In the uppermost basket there were all manner of bake- 



Prayers and Bible Stories 


379 


meats for Pharaoh, and the birds did eat out of this basket upon 
my head.” 

Joseph answered: “This is the interpretation of thy dream; the 
three baskets are three days. Within three days Pharaoh shall hang 
thee to a tree, and the birds shall eat of thy flesh.” 

It came to pass even as Joseph had said. Pharaoh restored his 
chief butler to his palace, but the chief baker was hanged. 

PART IV. PHARAOH DREAMS A DREAM 

It came to pass, at the end of two years, that Pharaoh, the king, 
dreamed a dream, which none could interpret. Then he slept and 
dreamed a second time, and in the morning his spirit was troubled. 
He sent for all the magicians of Egypt, and all the wise men thereof, 
but there was not one of them could interpret his dreams. Then 
spake the chief butler unto the king: 

“Now do I remember my faults. In prison there is a youth 
whom I promised not to forget. He it is who is most skilful in the 
interpretation of dreams.” 

Then Pharaoh sent and called for Joseph, and they brought him 
hastily out of the dungeon. 

The king said: “I have heard say of thee that thou canst inter¬ 
pret a dream.” 

And Joseph answered: “The interpretation lies not with me, 
but with God. Tell me now thy dream, that God may give thee an 
answer to it.” 

Pharaoh said: “In my dream, behold, I stood by the bank of a 
river, and there came up out of the river seven kine, fat and well- 
favored, and they fed in a meadow. After them came seven other 
kine. lean and ill-favored. And the lean kine did eat up the fat 
kine. So I awoke. Then, I dreamed again, and in my dream I saw 
seven ears come up on one stalk, full and good. Then sprang up 
seven withered ears, thin and blasted, and the seven thin ears 
devoured the seven fat ears. I have told these dreams unto our 
magicians, but none can declare the meaning unto me.” 



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Joseph spake thus to the king: “Thy two dreams are one. God 
is showing Pharaoh what he is about to do. The seven good kine 
and the seven good ears are the seven years of plenty which Egypt 
is to have. Then the seven lean kine and the seven withered ears 
are the seven years of famine which will follow. During the sev¬ 
en lean years all the plenty shall be consumed in the land of 
Egypt, and the famine shall be very grievous. God will shortly 
bring this to pass; prepare now as God hath warned thee. Find 
a man, discreet and wise, and set him over the land of Egypt. 
Let him appoint officers to take up one-fifth part of the crops 
in the seven plenteous years. Let the food be kept in great 
storehouses in the cities, against the time when the famine shall 
come; then only shall Egypt not perish when the lean years 
come.” 

Then said Pharaoh unto Joseph: “God hath given thee great 
wisdom beyond thy years. Thou art that man who is discreet and 
wise, and I shall set thee over the land of Egypt, to do according to 
thy word.” 

Pharaoh took then a ring off his finger, and put it upon Joseph’s 
hand, and arrayed him in fine linen and put a gold chain around 
his neck, and he cried to the people, “Bow the knee!” and they 
bowed before Joseph as before the king, and Joseph rode in a chariot 
second to the king. 

At last, Joseph went out from the presence of Pharaoh and went 
throughout all the land of Egypt. During the seven plenteous years 
Joseph harvested the crops, saving one-fifth part to be stored. And 
Joseph gathered corn as the sand of the sea, until it seemed past all 
numbering. 

Then the seven years of dearth began, even as Joseph had said, 
and the dearth was in all the lands round about. Only in Egypt was 
there plenty, because of Joseph’s wisdom. Then, when the people 
cried to the king for bread, he answered them: “Go unto Joseph. 
What he saith to you, do.” And all the neighboring countries began 
to come into Egypt to buy corn of Joseph. 




Prayers and Bible Stories 


381 


PART V. THE BRETHREN BOW DOWN TO JOSEPH 



Now the famine was heavy in the land of 
the Hebrews, and Jacob said unto his sons: 


“It is said that there is food in Egypt. Get 
thee down and buy corn for us, that we may 
not die. Take not Benjamin, thy youngest 
brother, with thee, he that is own brother to 
my lost son Joseph. Let Benjamin rest at 
home, lest, peradventure, mischief befall 


him.” 


So the brethren set off for the land of Egypt. When they came 
thither, they were sent to Joseph, who was the governor of the land, 
and they knew him not. They bowed themselves before him, with 
their faces to the earth. And Joseph saw his brethren and knew 
them, but he saw that they knew not him, so he made himself rough 
to them, and he said: “Whence come ye?” 

“From Canaan, the land of the Hebrews,” they answered, and 
again they bowed low before him, and Joseph remembered his 
dream of the brethren bowing before him, and he said: 

“Have ye a father yet alive, and have ye more brethren at home?” 

“Our father, Jacob, yet lives, and with him is our youngest 
brother, Benjamin, a lad. We come seeking corn for them.” 

Joseph’s heart ached within him when he heard the names of 
his father and his brother, but he answered roughly: 

“Ye come not for corn, but to spy on the land of Egypt.” 

“Nay, nay, my lord,” cried the brethren. “We are true men; 
thy servants are no spies. It is to buy corn that we are come.” 

“Ye are spies, I say!” answered Joseph. “If ye be not spies, 
return now to your father and bring back with thee thy youngest 
brother Benjamin. Carry back corn to thine old father, but except 
ye return with Benjamin, thy brother, thou shalt surely die.” And 
when they saw him not, Joseph turned aside and wept. 

Then the brethren departed in all haste with sacks of corn for 
their father, and they spoke of what had happened. 












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“It is because of our sin against Joseph, our brother, that now 
this has come upon us,” they said, and Reuben added: 

“Spake I not unto thee telling thee to sin not against the child? 
Now, Benjamin is required for a sacrifice.” 

So, they came at last unto the house of Jacob, their father, and 
when they opened every man his sack, lo, the money was within. 
Then were the brethren sore afraid, and they told Jacob all that 
had befallen them in the land of Egypt. Jacob cried out against 
them: 

“Me ye have bereaved of my children. Joseph is not, and now 
ye would take Benjamin away. All things are against me. Ben¬ 
jamin shall not go down into Egypt. If ought should befall him 
there, it would bring down my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave.” 

But time passed, and the famine continued. At last there was no 
more food in Canaan, and Jacob knew that they must go once more 
to the great ruler in Egypt; so he called the brethren together, and 
he placed Benjamin in their midst, saying: 

“If it must be, do this; carry down to the man a little present; 
a little balm, a little honey, spices and myrrh, nuts and almonds. 
Take also double money in your hand. Go before this man with thy 
brother Benjamin, and God Almighty give thee mercy before this 
man, that he may let thy brother go in safety. If I am bereaved of 
my children, I am bereaved!” 

PART VI. JOSEPH REVEALS HIMSELF TO HIS BRETHREN 

Now when the brethren were come again before Joseph’s door, 
they were told that on that day at noon they were to eat with 
Joseph. They made ready their present, as their father had com¬ 
manded, and at noon they stood before Joseph, and he said: 

“Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spake?” 

They answered, “Thy servant, our father, is in good health,” and 
they bowed down their heads and made obeisance to him. Joseph 
lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother, Benjamin, his mother’s son, 
and he said: 




Prayers and Bible Stories 


383 


“God be gracious unto thee, my son,” and the lad bowed to him, 
and Joseph was greatly moved, and went into the next room and 
wept. When he returned, he had food set before them, and they 
marvelled greatly, for the food that was set before Benjamin was 
always much more than that which was set before them. 

While they ate, Joseph spoke secretly to his steward, and he 
told the man, saying, “Fill their sacks with grain, all they can carry 
and put every man’s money in his sack. But in the sack of the 
youngest put my silver cup.” And the man did as Joseph told him. 

As soon as the day was come, the brethren started on their way 
with their sacks of corn, but they had not gone far, when the steward 
overtook them, crying out: 

“Wherefore have ye rewarded evil for good. Hath not my 
master given you to eat and to drink, that ye must needs steal away 
with the silver cup which he useth.” 

The brothers said: “God forbid that thy servants should do 
such a thing. Search now our sacks, we pray thee, that thou mayst 
see for thyself that the cup is not with us. With whomsoever of 
thy servants it be found, let that one die, and we will be forever 
bondmen to thy master.” 

Then every man opened his sack, and lo, in the sack of Benjamin 
the silver cup was found. Then the brethren rent their clothes, and 
returned in haste to the house of Joseph, and sought him out. They 
fell on their faces before him, and cried out: 

“What shall we say unto my lord, and what shall we cry out; 
how shall we clear ourselves, and what shall we speak? Benjamin, 
our brother, took not thy cup, but how shall we tell that unto thee, 
when it was found with him?” And the brethren wept. 

And Judah, one of them said: “Lord, we told thee of our father, 
how he is an old man. He loved Joseph, his son, more than any of 
us, but Joseph is no more. Then did our father turn his heart 
towards Benjamin, the brother of Joseph, sons of the same mother. 
If we return not to Jacob, our father, with this lad, his heart will 
break, and he will die. We cannot go down to him. If our young- 




384 


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est brother be not with us, we may not see our father's face. I pray 
thee let me suffer in the lad’s place. Let me die, or let me be thy 
bondman and thy slave, all the days of my life; only let Benjamin, 
I pray thee, return to the father who loves him.” 


When Joseph heard 
this, he could restrain 
himself no longer. He 
cried: “Let every man 
go out from me, save only 



these brethren.” Then 
when Joseph stood alone 
with his brethren, he 
made himself known un¬ 
to them, saying: 


“Doest thou know me not? I am Joseph, thy brother.” 

But they were deeply troubled at his words, and remembered 
how they had sold him for a slave to go down into Egypt, and 
Joseph saw their sorrow, and said to them: 

“Be not grieved nor angry with yourselves that ye sold me hither. 
God did send me before thee into Egypt to save thy lives. For only 
two years hath the famine consumed the land, and yet there are 
five more years when there shall be no harvest. But I have great 
storehouses, with plenty for all. So, it was not ye who sent me 
hither, but God. Now ye must go to Jacob, our father, and tell him 
of all that hath come to pass. Tell my father, and Benjamin shall 
be thy witness, of my glory in Egypt, and bring my father hither in 
all haste.” 

Then Joseph fell upon the neck of Benjamin, his brother, and 
wept, and Benjamin wept also. After that, Joseph embraced his 
brethren, and forgave them all that they had done unto him. Then, 
the brethren returned to Canaan to their father Jacob, and told him 
all that had come to pass. His heart leaped with joy, and he jour¬ 
neyed down into the land of Egypt to abide with Joseph, his son, and 
with all of his sons, so long as he lived. 





































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